But the momentary glimmer of reason had in a measure vanished, and when he spoke of Cinette she did not seem to be aware of who the girl was.
"You must listen to me, mother," said Fanfar, rapidly. "Jacques was not alone in that inn. There was another child; she was small, she had light curls."
His voice was so sympathetic and persuasive that Françoise saw it all, saw the little rosy face once more.
What was to be done? Time was passing, and now Fanfar knew that she who was in the power of a scoundrel, was his little sister Francine. He sees a miniature hanging on the wall, he takes it down.
"Yes, it is she—it is Cinette!" he cries.
The sick woman snatches it from his hand. She looks at it.
"Yes, it is my child."
"And you never knew it before?"
"No, she called me mamma, but I never called her daughter."
"And, mother, your daughter is in danger."