"I have nothing to do with her," said Lady Sarah impatiently.

"But listen a moment. Take La Goualeuse; she was only six years old when
Jacques Ferrand gave her to me, with a thousand francs, to get rid of
her."

"Jacques Ferrand!" cried Sarah, "the notary?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"Ten years ago? Fair? With blue eyes?

"Yes."

"Ah, Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" cried Sarah, falling on her knees. Suddenly
she rose. Hastily opening a secretary, she took from it an ebony casket,
which she opened. She took from it diamond necklaces and bracelets,
throwing them on the table in her hurry to reach the bottom.

"Is this she?" she cried, producing a small miniature.

"Yes."

Sarah took out paper and pen and began writing.

"Come," she said, "as you dictate, so I write. A written declaration--"

She did not finish. Screech-Owl brought down her arm and her dagger
entered Sarah's back between the shoulder-blades. She threw out her