r arm, and thus they could contemplate each other face
to face. A horrible surprise froze the blood in their veins, and their
limbs quivered like those of frightened horses. In effect, the two
Menoechmi had not been more alike. With one accord they uttered the same
phrase:

"Lord Dudley must have been your father!"

The head of each was drooped in affirmation.

"She was true to the blood," said Henri, pointing to Paquita.

"She was as little guilty as it is possible to be," replied Margarita
Euphemia Porraberil, and she threw herself upon the body of Paquita,
giving vent to a cry of despair. "Poor child! Oh, if I could bring thee
to life again! I was wrong--forgive me, Paquita! Dead! and I live! I--I
am the most unhappy."

At that moment the horrible face of the mother of Paquita appeared.

"You are come to tell me that you never sold her to me to kill," cried
the Marquise. "I know why you have left your lair. I will pay you twice
over. Hold your peace."

She took a bag of gold from the ebony cabinet, and threw it
contemptuously at the old woman's feet. The chink of the gold was potent
enough to excite a smile on the Georgian's impassive face.

"I come at the right moment for you, my sister," said Henri. "The law
will ask of you----"

"Nothing," replied the Marquise. "One person alone might ask for a
reckoning for the death of this girl. Cristemio is dead."

"And the mother," said Henri, pointing to the old woman. "Will you not
always be in her power?"

"She comes from a country where women are not beings, but
things--chattels, with which one does as one wills, which one buys,
sells, and slays; in short, which one uses for one's caprices as you,
here, use a piece of furniture. Besides, she has one passion which
dominates all the others, and which would have stifled her maternal
love, even if she had loved her daughter, a passion----"

"What?" Henri asked quickly, interrupting his sister.

"Play! God keep you from it," answered the Marquise.

"But whom have you," said Henri, looking at the girl of the golden eyes,
"who will help you to remove the traces of this fantasy which the law
would not overlook?"

"I have her mother," replied the Marquise, designating the Georgian, to
whom she made a sign to remain.

"We shall meet again," said Henri, who was thinking anxiously of his
friends and felt that it was time to leave.

"No, brother," she said, "we shall not meet again. I am going back to
Spain to en