'Let me see that shoe！'said the gipsy with a start.'Oh，God in heaven！'And at the same time，with the hand she had free，she eagerly opened the little bag she wore about her neck.
'Go to，go to！'muttered Gudule；'search in thy devil's amulet—'
She broke off suddenly，her whole frame shook，and in a voice that seemed to come from the innermost depths of her being，she cried：'My daughter！'
For the gipsy had drawn from the amulet bag a little shoe the exact counterpart of the other.To the shoe was attached a slip of parchment，on which was written this couplet：
'When thou the fellow of this shalt see，
Thy mother will stretch out her arms to thee.
Quicker than a flash of lightning the recluse had compared the two shoes，read the inscription on the parchment，then pressed her face，radiant with ineffable joy，against the cross-bars of the loophole，crying again：
'My daughter！my daughter！'
'Mother！'returned the gipsy girl.
Here description fails us.
But the wall and the iron bars divided them.'Oh，the wall！'cried the recluse.'Oh，to see her and not embrace her！Thy hand—give me thy hand！'
The girl put her hand through the opening，and the mother threw herself upon it，pressing her lips to it，remaining thus lost to everything but that kiss，giving no sign of life but a sob that shook her frame at long intervals.For the poor mother was weeping in torrents in the silence and darkness of her cell，like rain falling in the night；pouring out in a flood upon that adored hand all that deep dark font of tears which her grief had gathered in her heart，drop by drop，during fifteen long years.
Suddenly she lifted her head，threw back her long gray hair from her face，and without a word began tearing at the bars of her window with the fury of a lioness.But the bars stood firm.She then went and fetched from the back of her cell a large paving-stone，which served her for a pillow，and hurled it against them with such force that one of the bars broke with a shower of sparks，and a second blow completely smashed the old iron cross-bar that barricaded the hole.Then，using her whole force，she succeeded in loosening and wrenching out the rusty stumps.There are moments when a woman's hands are possessed of superhuman strength.
The passage cleared—and it had taken her less than a minute to do it—she leaned out，seized her daughter round the waist，and drew her into the cell.
'Come，'she murmured，'let me drag thee out of the pit.'
As soon as she had her daughter in the cell，she set her gently on the ground；then catching her up in her arms again，as if she were still only the baby Agnes，she carried her to and fro in the narrow cell，intoxicated，beside herself with joy，shouting，singing，kissing her daughter，babbling to her，laughing，melting into tears—all at the same time，all with frenzied vehemence.
'My daughter！my daughter！'said she.'I have my daughter again—'tis she！God has given her back to me.Hey there！come all of you！Is there anybody to see that I've got my daughter？Lord Jesus，how beautiful she is！Thou hast made me wait fifteen years，oh，my God，but it was only that thou mightest give her back to me so beautiful.And the gipsy women had not eaten her！Who told me that they had？My little girl—my little one—kiss me.Those good gipsies！I love the gipsies.So it is thou indeed？And it was that that made my heart leap every time thou didst pass by.And to think that I took it for hatred！Forgive me，my Agnes，forgive me！Thou thoughtest me very wicked，didst thou not？I love thee.Hast thou then that little mark still on thy neck？Let me see.Yes，she has it still.Oh，how fair thou art！'Twas from me you got those big eyes，my lady.Kiss me.I love thee.What is it to me that other women have children？I can laugh at them now！Let them only come and look.Here is mine.Look at her neck，her eyes，her hair，her hand.Find me anything as beautiful as that！Oh，I'll warrant you she'll have plenty of lovers，this one！I have wept for fifteen years.All my beauty that I lost has gone to her.Kiss me！'
She said a thousand tender and extravagant things to her，the beauty of which lay in their tone，disarranged the poor child's garments till she blushed，smoothed her silken tresses with her hand，kissed her foot，her knee，her forehead，her eyes，went into raptures over everything，the girl letting her do as she would，only repeating at intervals，very low and with ineffable sweetness the word'Mother！'
'Hark thee，my little girl，'resumed the recluse，interrupting her words constantly with kisses，'hark thee，I shall love thee and take good care of thee.We will go away from here.We are going to be so happy！I have inherited somewhat in Reims—in our country.Thou knowest Reims，—thou canst not，thou wert too little.Couldst thou but know how pretty thou wert at four months old—such tiny feet that people came all the way from épernay，five leagues off，to see them.We shall have a field and a house.Thou shalt sleep in my own bed.Oh，my God！who would believe it？I have my daughter again！'
'Oh，mother！'said the girl，finding strength at last to speak in her emotion，'the gipsy woman spoke true.There was a good gipsy woman among our people who died last year，and who had always taken care of me like a foster-mother.It was she who hung this little bag round my neck.She used always to say to me：‘Child，guard this trinket well；'tis a treasure；it will make thee find thy mother again.Thou wearest thy mother about thy neck！'She foretold it—the gipsy woman.'
