nd was
reported to have died with it; that she was taken with the terrible
malady shortly afterwards; and that the child wore, at the time she was
taken to the hospital, a gold locket, which contained portraits of her
father and mother, and a lock of the hair of each. This locket was
handed to her, and she identified it.

Fitz began to be alarmed.

Andre was called next. He had been employed as an interpreter in the
hospital in the Rue Lacepede. He had frequently seen the child whose
name was entered on the books of the establishment as Marguerite
Poulebah. He was informed that her parents had died, and that she had
no friends to whom she could be sent. He became very much interested in
her, and when something was said about taking her to an orphan asylum,
he had invited her to go home with him. He kept her there a few days,
and became so much attached to her that he was not willing to give her
up. His landlady took care of her till he embarked for America, where
he soon found employment as a barber and had ever since retained her.
He identified the locket as the one worn by the child when he took her
from the hospital. He confessed that he had done wrong in not using
greater efforts to find the friends of the child; but they were so much
attached to each other that a separation would have been insupportable
to either.

Andre finished his direct statement, and the counsel for the plaintiff
immediately opened upon him so fiercely that Fitz began to feel that
the day was not wholly lost.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.

"Where were you born, Mr. Maggimore?" asked the Wittleworth lawyer.

"In London," replied Andre.

"Are you a Frenchman?"

"My father was Italian, my mother French."

"Did you ever learn the barber's trade, or did you pick it up
yourself?"

"I was apprenticed to a barber in London, and served seven years."

"Have you always worked at the business?"

"No, sir. I used to shave an English gentleman who had a stiff arm, and
I finally went into his service as his valet. I remained with him till
he died of cholera in Paris. I lived with him fourteen years," answered
Andre, meekly.

"Have you ever told any person that Marguerite Checkynshaw died at the
hospital?" demanded the attorney, sharply.

"I have, sir."

"Was it true?"

"No, sir."

"Why did you say so, then?"

"Because I thought it was true."

"What made you think so?"

"The last name of the Marguerite that di