"I am looking for number 17."
"And what is your errand at number 17?"
"I wish to speak with a woman, a vegetable-vender who arrived here this evening with another market-woman."
"This is the house," said the old woman, "and I have the key in my pocket. Follow me."
She opened the narrow basement door and admitted the girl, following her and locking the door behind them. At the end of the corridor a lamp was flickering on the floor in the draught. The old woman raised the lamp and examined her guest by its light. At sight of the convent dress she started back with an exclamation of surprise. In the young girl's form and face, as she stood there under the feeble rays of the lamp, was something that suggested to her the saints and martyrs of old.
Edith was conducted to a low basement room, in whose corners she saw piles of potatoes and beets, with strings of onions hanging on the walls. In the middle of the room stood two straw chairs, on one of which was a tallow candle stuck into a hollow potato, while the other was occupied by a woman dressed in the costume of a Vienna vegetable-vender. She looked up and calmly surveyed the newcomer. Her face was not one to betray surprise at any unexpected occurrence; indeed, its expression indicated an unusual degree of self-mastery. But the girl practised no such self-control. Hastening forward and sinking on her knees before the stranger, she seized her hand and looked into her face with wide-open eyes.
"Baroness Baradlay," she exclaimed breathlessly, "they are plotting to murder your son!"
The other started slightly, but stifled the cry that rose to her lips. "Richard?" she stammered, forgetting her caution for an instant.
"Yes, yes," cried the other; "Richard, your Richard! Oh, dear madam, save him, save him!"
The baroness looked into Edith's face with searching scrutiny. "You are Edith?" she asked.