"The Goualeuse! yes! that is the name the woman mentioned--this woman called La Chouette. Dead--dead!" cried Sarah, still motionless, her eyes fixed and glaring; "they have killed her!" "Sarah!" replied Rudolph, as pale and alarmed as she, "calm yourself-- answer me--La Goualeuse--this girl whom you caused to be carried off by La Chouette from Bouqueval, was--" "Our child!" "She!" "And they have killed her." "Oh!--no, no--you rave--this cannot be. You know not, no, you know not how frightful this is. Sarah! compose yourself; speak to me tranquilly. Seat yourself--calm yourself. Often there are appearances--resemblances which deceive; one is inclined to believe what one desires. It is not a reproach I make you; but explain to me well--tell me all the reasons you have to credit this, for it cannot be--no, no; it must not be!--it is not so!" After a moment's pause, the countess collected her thoughts, and said to Rudolph in an expiring voice, "Hearing of your marriage, thinking to be married myself, I could not keep our daughter with me; she was then four years old." "But at this epoch I asked you for her with prayers," cried Rudolph, in a heartrending tone, "and my letters remained unanswered. The only one you wrote me announced her death." "I wished to avenge myself for your contempt by refusing you your child. That was unworthy; but listen to me: I feel it--my life is drawing to a close; this last blow has overwhelmed me." "No, no! I do not believe you--I do not wish to believe you! La Goualeuse my child! Oh, you would not have this so!" "Listen to me, I say. When she was four years old my brother commissioned Madame Séraphin, widow of one of his old servants, to bring up the child until she was old enough to be placed at school. The sum destined for her future support was placed by my brother with a notary renowned for his probity. The letters of this man, and of Madame Séraphin, addressed at this period to me and my brother, are there, in that casket. At the end of a year they wrote me that the health of my child failed; eight months after, that she was dead; and they sent me the official notification of her decease. At this time, Madame Séraphin entered the service of Jacques Ferrand, after having delivered our child to La Chouette by the hands of a wretch now in the galleys at Rochefort. I began to write this confession of La Chouette when she wounded me. This paper is there, with a portrait of our daughter at the age of four years. Examine all--letters, confessions, portrait--and you, who have seen her--this unfortunate child--judge."