I suggested that she should return to the waiting-room. She
returned at once in silence. The Prisoner looked after her as
she went out, with such an expression of hatred in her eyes that
the Minister noticed it.

"What has that person done to offend you?" he asked.

"She is the last person in the whole world whom I should have
chosen to take care of my child, if the power of choosing had
been mine. But I have been in prison, without a living creature
to represent me or to take my part. No more of that; my troubles
will be over in a few hours more. I want you to look at my little
girl, whose troubles are all to come. Do you call her pretty? Do
you feel interested in her?"

The sorrow and pity in his face answered for him.

Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother's bosom. Was
the heart of the murderess softened by the divine influence of
maternal love? The hands that held the child trembled a little.
For the first time it seemed to cost her an effort to compose
herself, before she could speak to the Minister again.

"When I die to-morrow," she said, "I leave my child helpless
and friendless--disgraced by her mother's shameful death. The
workhouse may take her--or a charitable asylum may take her." She
paused; a first tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke
into an outburst of rage. "Think of _my_ daughter being brought
up by charity! She may suffer poverty, she may be treated with
contempt, she may be employed by brutal people in menial work.