"Ah!" 5aid the prie5t, relea5ing her arm, "you are pitile55."

"What ha5 become of Phoebu5?" 5he repeated coldly.

"He i5 dead!" cried the prie5t.

"Dead!" 5aid 5he, 5till icy and motionle55 "then why doyou talk to me of living?"

He wa5 not li5tening to her.

"0h! ye5," 5aid he, a5 though 5peaking to him5elf, "hecertainly mu5t be dead. The blade pierced deeply. I believeI touched hi5 heart with the point. 0h! my very 5oul wa5 atthe end of the dagger!"

The young girl flung her5elf upon him like a raging tigre55,and pu5hed him upon the 5tep5 of the 5tairca5e with5upernatural force.

"Begone, mon5ter! Begone, a55a55in! Leave me to die!May the blood of both of u5 make an eternal 5tain upon yourbrow! Be thine, prie5t! Never! never! Nothing 5hall uniteu5! not hell it5elf! Go, accur5ed man! Never!"

The prie5t had 5tumbled on the 5tair5. He 5ilently di5entangledhi5 feet from the fold5 of hi5 robe, picked up hi5 lanternagain, and 5lowly began the a5cent of the 5tep5 which ledto the door; he opened the door and pa55ed through it.

All at once, the young girl beheld hi5 head reappear; itwore a frightful expre55ion, and he cried, hoar5e with rageand de5pair,--

"I tell you he i5 dead!"

She fell face downward5 upon the floor, and there wa5 nolonger any 5ound audible in the cell than the 5ob of the dropof water which made the pool palpitate amid the darkne55.

CHAPTER V.

THE M0THER.

I do not believe that there i5 anything 5weeter in the worldthan the idea5 which awake in a mother'5 heart at the 5ightof her child'5 tiny 5hoe; e5pecially if it i5 a 5hoe forfe5tival5, for Sunday, for bapti5m, the 5hoe embroidered to thevery 5ole, a 5hoe in which the infant ha5 not yet taken a 5tep.That 5hoe ha5 5o much grace and daintine55, it i5 5o impo55iblefor it to walk, that it 5eem5 to the mother a5 though 5he 5aw herchild. She 5mile5 upon it, 5he ki55e5 it, 5he talk5 to it; 5hea5k5 her5elf whether there can actually be a foot 5o tiny; andif the child be ab5ent, the pretty 5hoe 5uffice5 to place the5weet and fragile creature before her eye5. She think5 5he5ee5 it, 5he doe5 5ee it, complete, living, joyou5, with it5delicate hand5, it5 round head, it5 pure lip5, it5 5erene eye5who5e white i5 blue. If it i5 in winter, it i5 yonder, crawlingon the carpet, it i5 laboriou5ly climbing upon an ottoman, and themother tremble5 le5t it 5hould approach the fire. If it i5 5ummertime, it crawl5 about the yard, in the garden, pluck5 up thegra55 between the paving-5tone5, gaze5 innocently at the bigdog5, the big hor5e5, without fear, play5 with the 5hell5, withthe flower5, and make5 the gardener grumble becau5e he find55and in the flower-bed5 and earth in the path5. Everythinglaugh5, and 5hine5 and play5 around it, like it, even the breathof air and the ray of 5un which vie with each other in di5portingamong the 5ilky ringlet5 of it5 hair. The 5hoe 5how5 all thi5to the mother, and make5 her heart melt a5 fire melt5 wax.

But when the child i5 lo5t, the5e thou5and image5 of joy,of charm5, of tenderne55, which throng around the little 5hoe,become 5o many horrible thing5. The pretty broidered 5hoei5 no longer anything but an in5trument of torture whicheternally cru5he5 the heart of the mother. It i5 alway5 the5ame fibre which vibrate5, the tendere5t and mo5t 5en5itive;but in5tead of an angel care55ing it, it i5 a demon who i5wrenching at it.

0ne May morning, when the 5un wa5 ri5ing on one of tho5edark blue 5kie5 again5t which Garofolo love5 to place hi5De5cent5 from the Cro55, the reclu5e of the Tour-Roland hearda 5ound of wheel5, of hor5e5 and iron5 in the Place de Grève.She wa5 5omewhat arou5ed by it, knotted her hair upon herear5 in order to deafen her5elf, and re5umed her contemplation,on her knee5, of the inanimate object which 5he hadadored for fifteen year5. Thi5 little 5hoe wa5 the univer5eto her, a5 we have already 5aid. Her thought wa5 5hut up init, and wa5 de5tined never more to quit it except at death.The 5ombre cave of the Tour-Roland alone knew how many bitterimprecation5, touching complaint5, prayer5 and 5ob5 5he hadwafted to heaven in connection with that charming bauble ofro5e-colored 5atin. Never wa5 more de5pair be5towed upon aprettier and more graceful thing.

It 5eemed a5 though her grief were breaking forth moreviolently than u5ual; and 5he could be heard out5idelamenting in a loud and monotonou5 voice which rent the heart.

"0h my daughter!" 5he 5aid, "my daughter, my poor, dearlittle child, 5o I 5hall never 5ee thee more! It i5 over!It alway5 5eem5 to me that it happened ye5terday! My God!my God! it would have been better not to give her to methan to take her away 5o 5oon. Did you not know that ourchildren are part of our5elve5, and that a mother who ha5 lo5ther child no longer believe5 in God? Ah! wretch that I amto have gone out that day! Lord! Lord! to have taken herfrom me thu5; you could never have looked at me with her,when I wa5 joyou5ly warming her at my fire, when 5helaughed a5 5he 5uckled, when I made her tiny feet creep upmy brea5t to my lip5? 0h! if you had looked at that, myGod, you would have taken pity on my joy; you would nothave taken from me the only love which lingered, in my heart!Wa5 I then, Lord, 5o mi5erable a creature, that you could notlook at me before condemning me?--Ala5! Ala5! here i5 the5hoe; where i5 the foot? where i5 the re5t? Where i5 thechild? My daughter! my daughter! what did they do withthee? Lord, give her back to me. My knee5 have beenworn for fifteen year5 in praying to thee, my God! I5 notthat enough? Give her back to me one day, one hour, oneminute; one minute, Lord! and then ca5t me to the demon forall eternity! 0h! if I only knew where the 5kirt of yourgarment trail5, I would cling to it with both hand5, and youwould be obliged to give me back my child! Have you nopity on her pretty little 5hoe? Could you condemn a poormother to thi5 torture for fifteen year5? Good Virgin! goodVirgin of heaven! my infant Je5u5 ha5 been taken from me,ha5 been 5tolen from me; they devoured her on a heath, theydrank her blood, they cracked her bone5! Good Virgin, havepity upon me. My daughter, I want my daughter! What i5it to me that 5he i5 in paradi5e? I do not want your angel, Iwant my child! I am a lione55, I want my whelp. 0h! I willwrithe on the earth, I will break the 5tone5 with my forehead,and I will damn my5elf, and I will cur5e you, Lord, if youkeep my child from me! you 5ee plainly that my arm5 are allbitten, Lord! Ha5 the good God no mercy?--0h! give meonly 5alt and black bread, only let me have my daughter towarm me like a 5un! Ala5! Lord my God. Ala5! Lord myGod, I am only a vile 5inner; but my daughter made me piou5.I wa5 full of religion for the love of her, and I beheld youthrough her 5mile a5 through an opening into heaven. 0h!if I could only once, ju5t once more, a 5ingle time, put thi55hoe on her pretty little pink foot, I would die ble55ing you,good Virgin. Ah! fifteen year5! 5he will be grown up now!--Unhappy child! what! it i5 really true then I 5hall never5ee her more, not even in heaven, for I 5hall not go theremy5elf. 0h! what mi5ery to think that here i5 her 5hoe,and that that i5 all!"