Now she had done all that was possible for the marquise, but no power on
earth should induce her to undertake anything of the sort a second time;
She was saying this to herself as she entered the little castle.

Let the old noblewoman come now!

She was not long in doing so. But how she looked!

The little gray curls done up in papers stood out queerly from her narrow
head. Her haggard cheeks were destitute of rouge and lividly pale.

Her black eyes glittered strangely from their deep sockets as if she were
insane, and ragged pieces of her morning dress, which she had torn in a
fit of helpless fury, hung down upon her breast.

The sight made Barbara shudder. She suspected the truth.

During her absence a new message of evil had reached the marquise.

Unless ten thousand lire could be sent to her son at once, he would be
condemned to the galleys, and his child would be abandoned to misery and
disgrace.

While speaking, the wretched mother, with trembling hands, tore out a
locket which she wore on a little chain around her neck. It contained
the angelic face, painted on ivory by an artist's hand, of a fair-haired
little girl. The child bore her name, Barbara. The singer knew this.
How often the affectionate grandmother had told her with sparkling eyes
of her little "Babette"!