daughter had been for ten years leading a wretched existence, forsaken
as she was. Not one feeling of remorse was there when she reflected that
she herself had snatched her away disastrously from the peaceful retreat
in which Rodolph had placed her. This unnatural mother did not eagerly
question the Chouette with terrible anxiety as to the past life of the
child. No! In her heart ambition had long since stifled every sentiment
of maternal tenderness. It was not joy at again being restored to a lost
daughter that transported her,--it was the hope of seeing at length
realised the vain dream of her whole existence. Rodolph had felt deeply
interested in this unfortunate girl, had protected her without knowing
her; what would then be his feelings when he discovered that she
was--his daughter? He was free--the countess was a widow! Sarah already
saw the sovereign crown sparkling on her brow.

The Chouette, still stealing on with slow steps, had at length reached
one end of the table, and had her stiletto perpendicularly in her
basket, its handle on a level with the opening, and within her clutch.
She was but a step or two from the countess.

"Do you know how to write?" inquired Sarah of her; and, pushing from her
the casket and gems, she opened a blotting-book, which was by an
inkstand.

"No, madame; I do not!" replied the Chouette, at all risks.

"I will write, then, at your dictation. Tell me all the circumstances of
the abandonment of this little girl."

And Sarah, sitting in an armchair before the writing-table, took up a
pen, and made a sign to the Chouette to come close to her. The old
wretch's one eye sparkled. At last she was standing up, close to the
seat on which Sarah was sitting, and, stooping over a table, was
preparing to write.

"I will read aloud, and then," said the countess, "you can correct any
mistakes."

"Yes, madame," replied the Chouette, narrowly watching every motion of
Sarah; and she furtively introduced her hand into her basket, that she
might be able to grasp the poniard without being observed.

The countess commenced writing.

"I declare that--"

Then interrupting herself, and turning towards the Chouette, who was at
the moment touching the handle of her poniard, Sarah added:

"At what period was the child brought to you?"

"In the month of February, 1827."

"And by whom?" continued Sarah, turning towards the Chouette.

"By Pierre Tournemine, now at the galleys at Rochefort. It w