It made Lauriane's heart ache to see the extreme emaciation of the wretched creature, who was almost naked under the gaudy, but filthy rags she wore. She shuddered as she thought of the probable fate of that child, driven to frenzy doubtless by the tyranny and the blows of a vile mountebank; and she walked away a few steps, leaning on the arm of her good Celadon, Bois-Doré, who, although he did not say so, felt almost as distressed as she. But De Beuvre was of tougher fibre, and he urged La Flèche to make the evil spirit speak. "Come, my lovely Pilar," said La Flèche, accompanying each word with a gesture big with threats, which were readily intelligible to his victim; "come, queen of the elves and hobgoblins, you must speak. Pick up that coin which is nearest you." Pilar sat motionless for a long time, pretending to be asleep; she was shivering with fever. "Come, come, gallows-bird, tow for the stake!" continued La Flèche, "pick up that gold piece, and I will tell you where Mario, your beloved Mario, is." "What's that!" said the marquis, turning back; "what does he say about Mario?" "Who is Mario?" asked Lauriane. "Silence!" cried De Beuvre; "the devil speaks, and you are interested, neighbor!" The child spoke thus in French, in a shrill voice and with a strongly marked accent: "Celui de qui depend ce gage, S'il veut ecouter le presage Et se bien garer de l'amour--[20] "I have said enough, I won't say any more," she added in Spanish. She had forgotten her lesson. Neither prayers nor threats availed to refresh her memory; but she did not admit that she had been coached; she was already a sorceress and proud of her profession. She knew the magic chart much better than La Flèche, and she loved to prophesy. By trying to teach her poetry, which she called another kind of magic, La Flèche had irritated her, and the feeling that she should not succeed had wounded her self-esteem. She shook her head, bristling with hair as black as ink, stamped her foot and gave way to a paroxysm of pythoness-like rage. "Good! good!" cried La Flèche, determined to make use of her, in one way or another. "Now it is coming! the devil is entering her body, she will speak in a moment!" "Yes," said the child in Spanish, darting madly into the circle, "and I know it all better than you, better than all the others. Come! come! come! I know; question me!" "Let us speak French," said La Flèche. "What will happen to the noble lord whose token I hold?" It was the marquis's. "Joy and consolation!" said the child. "Very good! but in what form?" "Vengeance!" "I, vengeance?" said Bois-Doré. "That is not my disposition." "No, surely not," said Lauriane, glancing involuntarily at D'Alvimar. "The devil must have mistaken the token." "No! I am not mistaken," replied the elf. "Really?" said La Flèche. "If you are quite sure, speak, she-devil! So you think that this noble lord here present has some insult to avenge?"