While the thieves are gazing upon her from above, Leslie Warburton, unconscious of this new danger that threatens her, replaces her veil and continues to address the old man. "Once more, and for the last time," she pleads, "I ask you to tell me the truth. Give up this claim of kinship. If you were my father, something in my heart would tell me so; God has not created me lower than the brutes. What do you know of my parentage? You must possess some knowledge. Man, I would go upon my knees to you to learn the truth!" Papa is silent a moment, then he begins to cough violently. It is the signal for the two thieves to enter, but they do not respond as promptly as Papa could wish. "My child," he begins feebly, but leaves the sentence unfinished at the sound of a double knock upon the door. "Ah-h-h!" he cries with evident relief, "here comes your mother; she can tell you how wrong you are." And he hastens to admit an old woman, literally lost in an ample old-fashioned cloak, and bearing in her arms a long and apparently heavy bundle. "Ah," says the old hypocrite, "here you are at last, after being at the toil of the poor. Come in, old woman, here is our proud girl come to see us." Then as his eyes rest upon the bundle, he grasps her wrist and hisses in her ear: "You old fool! to bring _that_ here." "I had to do it," she retorts in a whisper; "there are cops in the alleys." With a fierce gesture toward the rear door, Papa seizes the bundle, saying: "Why, it is very heavy; old iron, I suppose; and how horrid those old rags smell. We must take them away, old woman." And with a jerk of the head which, evidently, she understands, he turns toward the aforementioned door, and they bear the big bundle out between them. Perhaps it is the flickering light, perhaps it is her disordered fancy, but as they bear their burden through the doorway, Leslie Warburton half believes that she sees it move. A moment later she starts forward, her face blanched, her eyes distended. "Oh, am I losing my senses?" she cries, "or _did_ I hear a child's voice, a voice like my little Daisy's, calling 'mamma?'" A moment she listens, but no child's voice breaks the stillness; even Papa and Mamma Francoise are silent in the room without. A sudden feeling of terror possesses Leslie. "Oh, these wicked people are driving me mad!" she murmurs brokenly. "_Anything_ is better than this. I will go home and confess all to my husband. I will brave the worst, rather than be so tortured!" Drawing her cloak about her, she makes a step toward the door. Only a single step, for strong hands seize her from behind, and, uttering a shriek of terror, she sees a ferocious face close to her own, feels a clutch upon her throat, and is struggling between two fierce assailants. "Get on to the shiners, gal," commands Siebel, as he pinions her arms with his powerful hands. Again Leslie utters a cry for help, and what follows is the work of a moment.