“I think that it was Val-lom-breuse,” said Chiquita at last, pronouncing the syllables separately and slowly, as if listening to an inward echo. “Yes, Vallombreuse, I am sure of it now. It is the name of the seignior that your Captain Fracasse wounded in a duel—he would have done much better if he had killed him outright—saved a great deal of trouble to himself and to you. He is very wicked, that rich duke, though he does throw his gold about so freely by the handfuls—just like a man sowing grain. You hate him, don’t you? and you would be glad if you could get away from him, eh?” “Oh yes, indeed!” cried Isabelle impetuously. “But alas! it is impossible—a deep moat runs all around this château the drawbridge is up, the postern securely fastened—there is no way of escape.” “Chiquita laughs at bolts and bars, at high walls and deep moats. Chiquita can get out of the best guarded prison whenever she pleases, and fly away to the moon, right before the eyes of her astonished jailer. If you choose, before the sun rises your Captain Fracasse shall know where the treasure that he seeks is hidden.” Isabelle was afraid, when she heard these incoherent phrases, that the child was not quite sane, but her little face was so calm, her dark eyes so clear and steady, her voice so earnest, and she spoke with such an air of quiet conviction, that the supposition was not admissible, and the strange little creature did seem to be possessed of some of the magic powers she claimed. As if to convince Isabelle that she was not merely boasting, she continued, “Let me think a moment, to make a plan—don’t speak nor move, for the least sound interferes with me—I must listen to the spirit.” Chiquita bent down her head, put her hand over her eyes, and remained for several minutes perfectly motionless; then she raised her head and without a word went and opened the window, clambered up on the sill, and gazed out intently into the darkness.