Monsieur de Vautrin frowned and moved his gaze from Moira to the servant who stood, her large hands, badly gloved, folded upon her stomach, her feet shifting uneasily.
"I've heard something of Nora Burke's story," said de Vautrin dryly, "but there are parts of it that I have not heard."
"Ye're quite at liberty to question, Monsieur," put in Quinlevin, "Nora too is merely an instrument of truth in the hand of Providence."
"Since Providence has ceased providing," said the Duc dryly, "I comprehend. But I will listen to this extraordinary tale again, since I have promised to do so. It can do no harm. Allons! Proceed, Nora Burke. My poor wife, you say, engaged you some weeks before my daughter was born?"
"She did, yer Highness——" And, as the woman hesitated——
"Go on, Nora," said Quinlevin.
"The choild was born, this very girl they call Moira Quinlevin, who sits before ye, a beautiful choild she was, fine and healthy that the poor Duchesse never lived to see, for she died that night, God rest her soul, faded away before our very eyes."
"And who was there beside yourself," asked the Duc coolly.
"Dominick Finucane, the doctor from Athlone, and Father Reilly, the priest who gave her Absolution——"
"And who has since died," said de Vautrin dryly.