ke on so. God is everywhere, and takes
care of us in the night as well as by day. Fear not! And here, my
child, see what I've brought you! Feel, rather,--taste; you must be
half starved. Here is a big, fat sandwich, and here's another. And
here's a small flacon of the red wine of Bourgogne. You poor child!
You need something for blood. Here's a bit of cheese, too, and, let's
see,--by the blessed Sainte! I was told to let you have bread and
water and I've actually forgotten the water!

"Now eat! The idea of a big girl like you being afraid in the dark!"

"No, it was not that, madame. Mon Dieu, no! I'm used to that. Indeed,
I'm not afraid. It----"

"Then what on earth have you been crying about, child?"

"Oh, madame! it is because--because you are so good to me. Yes, that
is it. I'm not used to that,--no!"

Sister Agnes must have been quite agitated by this frank and
unexpected avowal, for she pressed the child to her with still greater
fervor, kissing her time and again more affectionately, after which
she immediately slipped into the religious rut again below the
crucifix.

A single ray of moonlight from the high loophole in the wall fell
athwart the sombre cell and rested caressingly upon her bowed head as
she knelt and seemed to bless her.

When she had recovered her self-possession she resumed her seat by the
side of Fouchette, who, meanwhile, had been making havoc with the
provisions.

"Oh! I was afraid--dreadfully afraid--that night, forty years ago,"
she whispered. "It was in this same place. And when they left me I
almost cried my eyes out--and screamed,--how I screamed! Yet no one
came. The next morning I had bread and water. And the next night and
day, too. Ah! Sainte Mere de Dieu! how I suffered!"

Fouchette shuddered.

"And I was a strong, healthy child, but wilful; yet the dark seemed
terrible to me--because I was wicked."

Fouchette wondered what dreadful crime this child of forty years ago
had committed to have been thus treated. She must have been very, very
wicked.

"Yes, forty years ago----"

"How much did they give you, madame?"

"Er--what's that, petite?"

"Pardon, madame, but how much time yet do you have to serve?"

"I don't understand," replied the puzzled woman, unfamiliar with
worldly terms.

"Why, I mean, how long did they send you up for?" asked the child.

"Send?--they?--who?"

"The police."

"Police? Mon Dieu! my child, the police had nothing to do with me."

"We