"Woman!" she cries passionately, "drop your mask of hypocrisy! Let us understand each other. I believe that you were in my house on the night of that wretched masquerade. I have reasons for so believing. Ah, I recall many words that have fallen from your lips, now that it is too late; words that condemn you. You believed that with Daisy removed, I would become my husband's sole heiress; and you knew that at best his life would be short. The more the money in my possession, the more you could extort from me. But I can thwart you here, and I will. You never reckoned upon my throwing away my claim to wealth, for you were never human; you never loved anything but money, or you would have pity on that poor little child. Give me back little Daisy, and every dollar I can claim shall become yours!" Oh, the greed, the avarice, that shines from Mamma's eyes! But Papa makes her a sign, and she remains silent, while he says, with his best imitation of gentleness: "But, my child; but, Leschen, how can _we_ find the little girl?" Leslie turns upon him a look of contempt, and then a swift spasm of fear crosses her face. "Oh," she cries, clasping her hands wildly, "surely, _surely_ you have not killed her!" And now Mamma has resumed her mask. "My child," she says, coming close to Leslie, "you're excited. We don't know where to find that child. What can _we_ do?" Back to Leslie's face comes that look of set calm, and she sinks upon the chair she had lately occupied. "Do your worst!" she says between tightly clenched teeth. "You know that I do not, that I never shall, believe you. You say you are my mother," flashing two blazing eyes upon Mamma, "take care of your child, then. Make of me a rag-picker, if you like. Henceforth I am nothing, nobody, save the daughter of the Francoises!" Again, for a moment, the faces that regard her present a study. And this time it is Franz who is the first to speak, Coming forward somewhat unsteadily, he doffs his ragged old cap, and extends to her a hand not overclean. "Partner, shake!" he says in tones of marked admiration. "Ye're clean grit! If ye're my sister, I'm proud of ye. If ye ain't, and ye 'pear to think ye ain't, then it's my loss, an'," with a leer at the old pair, "yer gain. Anyhow, I'm yer second in this young-un business. Ye kin stay right here, ef ye want ter, and, by thunder, ef the old uns have got yer little gal, ye shall have her back agin--ye hear me! Ain't ye goin' ter shake? I wish yer would. I'm a rough feller, Missy; I've allers been a hard case, and I've just got over a penitentiary stretch--ye'll hear o' that soon enough, ef ye stay here. The old un likes to remind me of it when she ain't amiable. Never mind that; maybe I ain't all bad. Anyway, I'm goin' to stand by ye, and don't ye feel oneasy." Again he extends his hand, and Leslie looks at it, and then up into his face. "Oh, if I could trust you!" she murmurs. "If you would help me!" "I _kin_;" says Franz promptly, "an' I _will_!"