"All! two, three, four thousand francs--more, if you will; for I tell you," added the duchess, frankly, in a tone almost affectionate, "I have no resource but in you, sir--in you alone. It will be impossible for me to find elsewhere that which I ask you for to-morrow; and it must be--you understand--it must be absolutely. Thus, I repeat to you, whatever condition you impose on me for this service, I accept." In his blindness, he had interpreted in an unworthy manner the last words of the duchess. It was an idea as stupid as it was infamous; but we have already said that sometimes Jacques Ferrand became a tiger or a wolf; then the beast overpowered the man. He arose quickly and advanced toward the duchess. She, thunder-struck, rose at the same moment and regarded him with astonishment. "You will not regard the cost?" cried he, in a broken voice, approaching still nearer to the duchess. "Well, this sum I will lend to you on one condition, one single condition--and I swear that----" He could not finish his declaration. By one of those strange contradictions of human nature at the sight of the hideous face of M. Ferrand, at the mere thought of what his conditions might be, Madame de Lucenay, notwithstanding her inquietudes and troubles, burst out in a laugh so frank, so loud, so mirthful, that the notary recoiled confounded. Without giving him time to utter a word, the duchess, abandoning herself more and more to her hilarity, pulled down her veil, and between two renewed bursts of laughter, said to the notary, who was almost blind with rage, hatred, and fury, "I prefer, upon the whole, to ask this favor openly of the duke." She then went out, continuing to laugh so loudly that, though the door of the cabinet was closed, the notary could still hear her. Jacques Ferrand returned to his senses only to curse his imprudence bitterly. Yet, by degrees he reassured himself in thinking that the duchess could not speak of this interview without gravely compromising herself. Nevertheless, it was a bad day for him. He was buried in the blackest thoughts, when the private door of his cabinet was opened, and Mrs. Seraphin entered wildly. "Oh, Ferrand!" cried she, clasping her hands, "you were right enough in saying that we should some day regret having spared her life!" "Whose?" "That cursed little girl's." "How?" "A one-eyed woman, whom I did not know, to whom Tournemine delivered the little girl to rid us of her, fourteen years ago, when we said she was dead. Oh, who would have thought it!" "Speak!" "This woman has just been here; she was below just now. She told me she knew it was I who gave up the child." "Malediction! who could have told her? Tournemine is at the galleys." "I denied everything, treating her as a liar. But she maintains that she has found this child again, now grown up; that she knows where she is, and that it only depends upon herself to discover everything."