quickly and systematically amongst all her clothing. They felt under her
pillow again, but never thought of looking at the shawls of the baby who
lay so peacefully by her side; and then at last they crept away and
closed the door gently behind them.

The room was in utter darkness. For ages, as it seemed, Babette lay
there, afraid to stir, and listening vainly for some sound; then she sat
up, all white and trembling.

"My God!" she thought. "What awful thing has happened? Oh, give me
strength and courage, for my baby's sake."

As an inspiration, there came to her the thought of the little bottle
that the good-natured landlady of "Les Trois Frères" had given her. She
felt in the pocket of her dress and drew it out, taking a long, deep
draught of the fiery spirit. She had been on the verge of fainting,
though she knew it not, and the brandy put new life into her. She
listened for a long time and then gently--very gently--she crept out of
bed and drew aside the little curtain from the window.

Perhaps a wild idea of escaping into the cold, dark night outside, aided
by a sheet or blanket, flashed through her brain. If so, she soon
realized that it would not be practicable. The window was not high, but
it was small, and divided by thick, old-fashioned bars of iron. To get
out was impossible.

[Illustration: "SHE STOOD CONSIDERING."]

As she stood considering, a thin, flickering moonbeam crept in and
partially lighted up the room. It fell on to the door that led into the