"The young girl is no longer at St. Lazare!" cried Sarah, with dismay; "ah, what fearful news is this!"
"A monster of avarice had an interest in her destruction. They have drowned her, madame! But answer! You say that—"
"My daughter!" exclaimed Sarah, interrupting Rodolph, and standing erect, as straight and motionless as a statue of marble.
"What does she say? Good heaven!" cried Rodolph.
"My daughter!" repeated Sarah, whose features became livid and frightful in their despair. "They have murdered my daughter!"
"The Goualeuse your daughter!" uttered Rodolph, retreating with horror.
"The Goualeuse! Yes, that was the name which the woman they call the Chouette used. Dead—dead!" repeated Sarah, still motionless, with her eyes fixed. "They have killed her!"
"Sarah!" said Rodolph, as pale and as fearful to look upon as the countess; "be calm,—recover yourself,—answer me! The Goualeuse,—the young girl whom you had carried off by the Chouette from Bouqueval,—was she our daughter?"
"Yes. And they have killed her!"
"Oh, no, no; you are mad! It cannot be! You do not know! No, no; you cannot tell how fearful this would be! Sarah, be firm,—speak to me calmly,—sit down,—compose yourself! There are often resemblances, appearances which deceive if we are inclined to believe what we desire. I do not reproach you; but explain yourself to me, tell me all the reasons which induced you to think this; for it cannot be,—no, no, it cannot be,—it is not so!"