ors by which they were surrounded hadn't wholly
succeeded in killing out the woman within her--"how clumsy you are! You
don't understand one bit how to manage parrots. I had a parrot of my own
at my aunt's in Australia, and I know their ways and all about them. Just
let me try him." She held out her soft white hand toward the sulky bird
with a fearless, caressing gesture. "Pretty Poll, pretty Poll!" she said,
in English, in the conventional tone of address to their kind. "Did the
naughty man go and frighten her then? Was she afraid of his hand? Did
Polly want a lump of sugar?"

On a sudden the bird opened its eyes quickly with an awakened air, and
looked her back in the face, half blindly, half quizzingly. It preened
its wings for a second, and crooned with pleasure. Then it put forward
its neck, with its head on one side, took her dainty finger gently
between its beak and tongue, bit it for pure love with a soft, short
pressure, and at once allowed her to stroke its back and sides with a
very pleased and surprised expression. The success of her skill flattered
Muriel. "There! it knows me!" she cried, with childish delight; "it
understands I'm a friend! It takes to me at once! Pretty Poll! Pretty
Poll! Come, Poll, come and kiss me!"

The bird drew back at the words, and steadied itself for a moment
knowingly on its perch. Then it held up its head, gazed around it with a
vacant air, as if suddenly awakened from a very long sleep, and, opening
its mouth, exclaimed in loud, clear, sharp, and distinct tones--and in
English--"Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll! Polly wants a buss! Polly wants a
nice sweet bit of apple!"

For a moment M. Peyron couldn't imagine what had happened. Felix looked
at Muriel. Muriel looked at Felix. The Englishman held out both his hands
to her in a wild fervor of surprise. Muriel took them in her own, and
looked deep into his eyes, while tears rose suddenly and dropped down her
cheeks, one by one, unchecked. They couldn't say why, themselves; they
didn't know wherefore; yet this unexpected echo of their own tongue, in
the mouth of that strange and mysterious bird, thrilled through them
instinctively with a strange, unearthly tremor. In some dim and
unexplained way, they felt half unconsciously to themselves that this
discovery was, perhaps, the first clue to the solution of the terrible
secret whose meshes encompassed them.

M. Peyron looked on in mute astonishment. He had heard the bird repeat
that str