“No,” she said. “No—it’s just—me.”
Criminal though she was, he could not help feeling sorry for her.
“Madam, you are ill,” he said. “Sit down again!”
She shook her head.
“Mr. Donalds,” she said. “I—I must apologize. I’m afraid—it’s the wrong child!”
“The wrong—”
“Yes. Please come!”
She went out of the room, and he followed her up the stairs. She opened the door of a room, and there, on a bed, he saw his grandchild, sleeping peacefully.
“No!” he whispered. “No—it’s the right child!”
“It isn’t the one I meant,” said she.