"Look up, and see to whom you are speaking. It is I, the Lady Rety!"
"The Lady Rety?" said the Jew, while a ray of returning consciousness darted over his features.
"Who else would come to you? Who else cares for what becomes of you?"
"Begone!" screamed the dying man. "Begone! What can you want of me? I'm not strong enough to steal or murder!"
"You are mad!" cried she. "How can you talk in this manner? Suppose some one were to hear you?"
"I do not care," replied he. "I have no fear of anybody."
"Do not let them impose upon you," said she. "I know they tell you there is no hope for you. They've told you so to make you confess; but I have it from the doctor that you are in no danger whatever. You're weak, that's all. Keep your own counsel, I entreat you! They tell me Mr. Vandory called upon you; did he?"
The Jew groaned and laughed at the same time. He stretched his trembling arms and seized Lady Rety's hands.
"Ah!" said be, "that's what you come for? You want to know what I have said of the crimes which we have committed. Set your mind at rest. I've told them all—all—all! Do you understand me? I've told them every circumstance, from the first day that the attorney hired me to steal the papers, to the night you promised me your cursed money if I would kill the attorney. You said——"
"Silence, miscreant!" cried Lady Rety, striving to disengage her hands from the grasp of the Jew.