"Our child is not dead!" burst from her suddenly.

"Our child!"

"I tell you, she lives!"

"Enough, madame, you cannot deceive me. I know your schemes."

"But listen, I have proof!" she cried eagerly. "I have told you the
truth. You remember I had left the child with my notary to superintend
her education. He was false to me. She had not died, but was disposed of
to a woman known as the Screech-Owl, and----"

"No! No! I do not believe you--I do not wish to believe you!"

"See," she continued, "here is her portrait."

He seized the miniature. Yes, in the child's face were recognizable the
blue eyes, the oval face, the fair hair, so familiar to him in
Fleur-de-Marie.

"God!" he cried, "you wretched woman! La Goualeuse our daughter! Found,
only to lose her again. Dead!"

"No, she lives, Rudolph. Pity! I die!"

"Your child is dead, murdered. May the knowledge curse your last
moments!" And he rushed from the house, leaving Sarah in a fainting
condition.