"Before continuing this conversation, madame, I shall ask you what interest you have in this affair?" "The mother of this little girl is my _sister_, sir; I have here, for proof of what I advance, the publication of the death of this poor little thing, the letters from the person who had care of her, the receipt of one of your clients, with whom you placed the fifty thousand crowns." "Let me see these papers, madame." Quite astonished not to be believed at her word, Sarah drew from a portfolio several papers, which the notary closely examined. "Ah, well, madame, what do you want? The notice of the death is quite correct; the fifty thousand crowns became the property of M. Petit Jean, my client, by the death of the child; as to the interests, they were always punctually paid by me until its decease." "Nothing can be more correct than your conduct in this affair; sir, I am pleased to acknowledge it. The woman to whom the child was confided has also a right to our gratitude; she has taken the greatest care of my poor little niece." "That is true, madame; I was so much pleased with her conduct, that, after the death of the child, I took her in my service; she is still there." "Mrs. Seraphin is in your service, sir?" "For fourteen years, as housekeeper." "Since it is thus, sir, she can be of great assistance, if you will grant a demand which will appear strange, perhaps, even culpable at first; but, when you shall know with what intention--" "A culpable demand, madame; I do not think you are any more capable of making than I am of hearing it." "I know, sir, that you are the last person to whom one should address such a request; but I place all my hopes--my sole hope--in your pity. In every case I rely on your discretion." "Yes, madame." "I continue, then. The death of this poor little girl has cast her mother into such a state, her grief is as poignant at the present day as it was fourteen years since; and, after having feared for her life, to-day we fear for her reason." "Poor mother!" said Ferrand, with a sigh. "Oh! yes, very unfortunate mother, sir; for she could only blush at the birth of her daughter, at the time she lost her; while now circumstances are such, that my sister, if her child still lived, could own her, be proud of her, never leave her. Thus, this incessant regret, joined to other griefs, makes us fear for her reason." "Unfortunately, nothing can be done for her." "Oh, yes." "How, madame?" "Suppose some one should come and say to the poor mother. 'Your child was supposed to be dead; she is not; the woman who had care of her infancy can affirm it.'" "Such a falsehood would be cruel, madame. Why cause vain hopes to this poor mother?" "But if this was not a falsehood, sir; or, rather, if this supposition could be realized?" "By a miracle! If it only needed, to obtain it, my prayers joined to yours, I would pray from the bottom of my heart. Alas! there can be no doubt of her death."