When a cab is halted, the horses shying at a prostrate body, knots of street loungers gather at the cries of the discoverers of Marie B‚rard's body. The "sergents de ville" raise the woman. Her blood stains the sidewalk, in the shadow of the Church of Christ. Twinkling lights flicker on her face. A priest passing by, walks by the stretcher. He is called by his holy office to pray for the "parting soul."
It is PŠre Fran‡ois. He has been in Notre Dame. To the nearest hospital the bearers trudge. It is only a few rods. When the body is examined, the pale face is revealed. PŠre Fran‡ois clasps his hands.
It is, indeed, the mysterious guardian of Louise, stabbed and dying. It is the hand of fate!
Breathing faintly, the poor wretch lies prone. There is no apparent clue to her assailant. She is speechless. It has not been robbery; her valuables are intact. Hastily anointing her, PŠre Fran‡ois departs. He promises to return in the morning. He hastens to the nearest cabstand, and whirls away to Colonel Woods' hotel. Whose hand has dealt this blow? The financier is startled at the priest's face. Joseph has been jocular since the safe departure of Louise.
He listens. A prodigious whistle announces his feelings. "Padre," says he, "if that Frenchwoman is alive to-morrow, you must see her. Find out all she knows. I'll turn out at daybreak, and watch Madame Santos' house myself. I think that handsome 'she devil' had something to do with this.
"Got done with the maid. No more use for her. Now, my dear friend, I will be here to-morrow when you show up. We will interview the madame. She's the spider in this game."
Woods sleeps like a man in a tossing storm. He knows from the padre's repeated visits at the Santos mansion that dying Marie holds the secret of these two children's lives. If she could only talk.
All night the miner battles for Valois' unknown child.
Up with the lark, Joe sends his "French fellow" for detective Vimont. "Voila! un grand procŠs."
Vimont sees gold ahead.