“Your blood!”
“The woman who told me that our daughter was still living declared to me this disclosure when she stabbed me with her dagger.”
“And who was she? How did she know?”
“It was she to whom the child was confided when very young, after she had been declared dead.”
“But this woman? Can she be believed? How did you know her?”
“I tell you, Rodolph, that this is all fated—providential! Some months ago you snatched a young girl from misery, to send her to the country. Jealousy and hatred possessed me. I had her carried off by the woman of whom I have been speaking.”
“And they took the poor girl to St. Lazare?”
“Where she is still.”
“She is there no longer. Ah, you do not know, madame, the fearful evil you have occasioned me by snatching the unfortunate girl away from the retreat
