She shook her head, bristling with hair as black as ink, stamped her foot and gave way to a paroxysm of pythoness-like rage.
"Good! good!" cried La Flèche, determined to make use of her, in one way or another. "Now it is coming! the devil is entering her body, she will speak in a moment!"
"Yes," said the child in Spanish, darting madly into the circle, "and I know it all better than you, better than all the others. Come! come! come! I know; question me!"
"Let us speak French," said La Flèche. "What will happen to the noble lord whose token I hold?"
It was the marquis's.
"Joy and consolation!" said the child.
"Very good! but in what form?"
"Vengeance!"
"I, vengeance?" said Bois-Doré. "That is not my disposition."
"No, surely not," said Lauriane, glancing involuntarily at D'Alvimar. "The devil must have mistaken the token."