On hearing her dear child's name, Marguerite unhesitatingly opened the door; she had, besides, recognized a woman's voice, and grief had rendered her less fearful than formerly. Julia entered; she was wrapped in a black mantilla, larger than those in use among the Spaniards, and wore a cap of the same hue, from which two black feathers fell gracefully on her left shoulder. This costume, her decided step, and the animation which sparkled in her black eyes, gave to the whole person of the young Italian, a strangely fantastic distinction, but Marguerite did not notice all this, and exclaimed on seeing her,-- "Have you brought me back my dear Blanche?" "Not yet, but I shall make every effort that you may soon see her again. In order to do this it is necessary that I should talk with you; take me to your room." "But my master has forbidden me to receive anybody," said Marguerite, who began to regard Julia more attentively. "Your master has gone out." "He may come in at any moment." "I know how to avoid him. You are very much afraid of him, are you not?" "He's so strict." "Come, my good Marguerite, don't let the fear you feel for the barber make you forget your dear Blanche. Upon the conversation which we shall have together, upon the information which you will give me, depends perhaps the success of my enterprise." "Oh, to see my darling girl again, I feel that I would dare everything! Come, madame, follow me." Marguerite went up to her room, followed by Julia, who closely scrutinized everything that she saw. While the old woman placed her lamp on the table and drew up some chairs, Julia took off her mantle; she wore beneath it a red robe, and in a black belt which surrounded her waist, she had stuck a little stiletto with an ebony handle. This combination of red and black, which, following the old woman's chronicles, had always been the costume favored by magicians, the weapon which glittered in Julia's belt, all united to inspire Marguerite with a secret terror. She looked uneasily at the young woman and murmured, while offering her a seat,-- "May I know, madame, who you are, and where you have known my poor Blanche?" "Who I am," answered Julia, smiling bitterly, "has no connection with the motive which brings me here. What does it matter, in fact, who I am, provided that I am willing to help you find the one for whose loss you are grieving, and that I have the power to do so." "The power," repeated Marguerite, who began to be afraid of a private conversation with one who frequented witches' sabbaths, "Oh, you have the power?" "As to your dear Blanche, I do not know her, and I have never even seen her." These words greatly increased Marguerite's terror, but Julia continued without paying any attention to it,--