It would be impossible to describe Edith's feeling as she followed
the strange woman up to her own room, sitting down just where Mrs.
Lamotte bade her sit, and watching nervously the restless rolling
of the eyes, which had no terror for her now, particularly after
their owner said to her in French,
"Do you know me, Edith Hastings, Eloise Temple, Marguerite
Bernard? Have we never met before?"
Like the rushing of some mighty, pent up flood the past swept over
her then, almost bearing her senses down with the headlong tide;
link after link was joined, until the chain of evidence was
complete, and with a scream of joy Edith went forward to the arms
unfolded to receive her.
"Marie, Marie!" she cried, "How is it? When was it? Where was it?
Am I anybody or not, tell me?"
Then question followed question go rapidly that Marie, with all
her voluble French and broken English, was hardly able to keep up.
But the whole was told at last; everything was clear to Edith as
the daylight, and tottering to the bed, she asked to be alone,
while she wept and prayed over this great joy, which had come so
suddenly upon her.
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