tell me where my child is!' Monsieur, I lied to the last, lest she
should come here and make a noise; but I'm not sure it wouldn't have been
better to break faith with Robespierre, and tell the poor wanton where
her child is. What would you do, Monsieur? I cannot ask the Cure or the
Seigneur--I have reasons. But you have the head of a lawyer--almost--and
you have no local feelings, no personal interest--eh?"

"I should tell the truth."

"Your reasons, Monsieur?"

"Because the lawyer is a scoundrel. Your betrayal of his secret is not a
thousandth part so bad as one lie told to this woman, whose very life is
her child. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"Good! What harm can be done? A left-handed boy is all right in the
world. Your wife has twins--then think of the woman, the one ewe lamb of
'the poor wanton.' If you do not tell her, you will have her here making
a noise, as you say. I wonder she has not been here on your door-step."

"I had a letter from her to-day. She is coming-ah, mon dieu!"

"When?"

There was a tap at the window. The Notary started. "Ah, Heaven, here
she is!" he gasped, and drew over to the wall.

A voice came from outside. "Shall I play for you, Dauphin? It is as