“Indeed!” drawled the girl, delighting in the creature’s futile rage. “How will the marmousette help himself?” “Easily!” “But how? The creature makes me laugh.” “I will not give you the queen’s letter to Mirabeau.” “You have got it, then?” “Yes.” “How? From the girl?” “No. She would not part with it; but delivered it to the count with her own hands.” “Delivered it to the count! But you have it?” “Yes. I followed her into the house, hid in the room you know of, and stole it from under his very hands while he leaned back with shut eyes to ponder over it. You see there is an advantage in being small. I went in and out like a shadow.” “And the letter! Give it up. I am burning with impatience. The letter! Where is it?” “Why should I give the letter to you for the privilege of taming your fiend of a cat?” “The letter, insolent—the letter, or I will have you hung at the first lantern.” Zamara turned his back upon the excited woman, and was leaving the room. “What is this? Where are you going?” “To give Mirabeau his property, with a full account of all you have done to get him in your power. He has money to reward, and power to protect those who serve him.” “You would betray me, then, poor, miserable traitor?” “If I were not a traitor how could I be of use here?” answered the dwarf. “Traitor, if you will; but no one has yet called Zamara a fool; and I do not intend to give reason for it. I know the value both of love and hate. You ask the greatest luxury on earth at an unfair price. I refuse to sell it while better customers can be found.” Louison Brisot was struck dumb by the creature’s audacity. In her arrogant self-conceit she had fancied that terror made him her slave; but he turned upon her at the critical moment, when she had proofs of Mirabeau’s complicity with the queen almost in her grasp. She had taunted him a minute too early. “You shall not leave the room. I will have the letter,” she cried, darting before him, and placing her back against the door. “Give me that letter, man, or I will find it for myself.” The dwarf almost smiled in the face of that beautiful fiend. He drew back and cast a sidelong glance toward the window, which was not very far from the ground. Louison saw his intent, and prepared to spring upon him. Still half-smiling, he thrust one hand into the bosom of his dress, and she cried out, “That is right. What folly to think of playing the traitor with me!” But, instead of the package she expected, Zamara drew a poniard from his bosom, and, with the sheath of embossed gold in one hand, and the sharp, slender blade quivering in the other, stood ready to receive her. Louison burst into a mocking laugh. Even with that weapon the puny creature could be no more than a child in her grasp. She sprang forward, determined to wrest both the poniard and letter from him.