Bertha believed she was in a dream when she saw the prince's sang froid.
"What do you mean?" she inquired,—"I have passed yesterday and to-day with the——"
"The murderess—yes. But listen how delicious those verses are—poor, dear, little children!"
"'Tu nous trouveras morts près de la lampe éteinte;
Alors que diras tu? Quand tu t'éveilleras,
Tes enfants à leur tour seront sourds à ta plainte,
Pour nous rendre la vie——'"
"Grand Dieu!" exclaimed Bertha, interrupting Arnold, "what, then, it is your wife who is guilty of those attempts at murder? Yet you told me——"
"It is not my wife," replied the prince, replacing the book on the shelf; "but, unless I am deceived, it is her infernal attendant, the young girl with the copper skin."
"Iris?"
"Iris, I am all but certain."
"And your wife?"
"Was ignorant of all, I am most anxious to believe."