the chair in which Sarah was, "our child--my daughter!"

"Is not dead, I have irresistible proof; I know where she is; to-morrow
you shall see her."

"My daughter! My daughter!" repeated Rodolph, with amazement. "Can it be
that she lives?" Then, suddenly reflecting on the improbability of such
an event, and fearing to be the dupe of some fresh treachery on Sarah's
part, he cried, "No, no, it is a dream! Impossible! I know your
ambition--of what you are capable--and I see through the drift of this
proposed treachery!"

"Yes, you say truly; I am capable of all--everything! Yes, I desired to
abuse you; some days before the mortal blow was struck, I sought to find
out some young girl that I might present to you as our daughter. After
this confession, you will perhaps believe me, or, rather, you will be
compelled to credit irresistible evidence. Yes, Rodolph, I repeat I
desired to substitute a young and obscure girl for her whom we both
deplore; but God willed that at the moment when I was arranging this
sacrilegious bargain, I should be almost fatally stabbed!"

"You--at this moment!"

"God so willed it that they should propose to me to play the part of
falsehood--imagine whom? Our daughter!"

"Are you delirious, in heaven's name?"

"Oh, no, I am not delirious! In this casket, containing some papers and
a portrait, which will prove to you the truth of what I say, you will
find a paper stained with my blood!"

"Your blood!"

"The woman who told me that our daughter was still living declared to me
this disclosure when she stabbed me with her dagger."

"And who was she? How did she know?"

"It was she to whom the child was confided when very young, after she
had been declared dead."

"But this woman? Can she be believed? How did you know her?"

"I tell you, Rodolph, that this is all fated--providential! Some months
ago you snatched a young girl from misery, to send her to the country.
Jealousy and hatred possessed me. I had her carried off by the woman of
whom I have been speaking."

"And they took the poor girl to St. Lazare?"

"Where she is still."

"She is there no longer. Ah, you do not know, madame, the fearful evil
you have occasioned me by snatching the unfortunate girl away from the
retreat in which I had placed her; but--"

"The young girl is no longer at St. Lazare!" cried Sarah, with dismay;
"ah, what fearful news is this!"

"A monster of avarice had an interest in her destruction. They have