would
have found much of their conversation incomprehensible, as it was
largely made up of the extraordinary slang of the Paris street Arabs
and rascals generally. From time to time one or the other of the
participants in this orgy seemed to propose a toast, whereupon they
would all clink their glasses together before raising them to their
lips, drain them at a draught, and applaud vociferously, while there was
a constant drawing of corks and placing of fresh bottles on the table
by the servant who was waiting upon them. Just as Isabelle, thoroughly
disgusted with the brutality of the scene before her, was about to turn
away, Malartic rapped loudly on the table to obtain a hearing, and after
making a proposition, which met with ready and cordial assent, rose
from his seat, cleared his throat, and began to sing, or rather shout,
a ribald song, all the others joining in the chorus, with horrible
grimaces and gesticulations, which so frightened poor Isabelle that she
could scarcely find strength to creep away from the loathsome spectacle.

Before re-entering the house she went to look at the drawbridge, with a
faint hope that she might chance upon some unexpected means of escape,
but all was secure there, and a little postern, opening on the moat,
which she discovered near by, was also carefully fastened, with bolts
and bars strong enough to keep out an army. As these seemed to be the
only means of exit from the chateau, she felt that she was a prisoner
indeed, and understood why it had not been deemed necessary to lock any
of the inner doors against her. She walked slowly back to the gallery,
entered it by the glass door, found her lamp burning tranquilly just
where she had left it, retraced her steps swiftly through the long suite
of spacious apartments already described and flew up the grand staircase
to her own room, congratulating herself upon not having been detected in
her wanderings. She put her lamp down in the antechamber, but paused in
terror on the threshold of the inner room, stifling a shriek that
had nearly escaped her as she caught sight of a strange, wild figure
crouching on the hearth. But her fears were short-lived, for with an
exclamation of delight the intruder sprang towards her and she saw that
it was Chiquita--but Chiquita in boy's clothes.

"Have you got the knife yet?" said the strange little creature abruptly
to Isabelle--"the knife with three bonny red marks."

"Yes, Chiquita, I have it here i