"I don't know then how you know all about me, but I am sure you do."
"No, I do not; I never saw you but once before, in my life—never heard of you since except to hear your name mentioned once last night, and that you had been at Mrs. De Vrai's in the evening, and that that man followed you from there, and I guessed his wicked purpose."
"Yes, yes, wicked indeed."
"I know nothing more. I do not ask you either to tell more, yet I believe it would be a relief to you to tell it, and that it will be a burden off of your mind."
"Yes, yes, it will, it will; but I am afraid that you will not believe me, or that you will despise me, or laugh at me for being so simple, to be so deceived by a stranger; but then how could I tell that he was a bad man, and the streets so dark?"
Poor child, could she have told any better if it had been as light as noonday, that the soft-spoken, smiling gentleman, with his sweet words, only used them to cover up a heart full of bitterness and lying deceit?
"And so he told you he was an acquaintance of Mrs. De Vrai's, a friend, and then he offered you his arm."
"Yes, sir, and I thought I might take it—that it was so kind of him—for he told me that he was just going in to see her when he saw a lady come out, and he thought he would step along and ask her if Mrs. De Vrai was up, and how she was this evening, and if she had gone to bed, he would not disturb her; perhaps too, he might be of service to a friend of hers, by walking home with her. And then he asked me a great many questions about Mrs. De Vrai, how long she had lived there, and who lived with her, and who else lived in the house, and about little Sissee; he asked such a heap of questions—if she was pretty, and how big she was, and where she slept, and where her mother slept, and oh! I cannot tell you how many things; and then he told me how he knew her in Paris, and what a pretty little girl she had—that was Katy, sir,—and then I told him that Katy was dead, and then—but I did not think of it then—he did not seem a bit sorry about it, while I could not help crying, only thinking about it—and that she should die just then too, when her mother was going to be a good mother, and when some good men were just going to begin to be good to her. Oh, sir, it was sad, very sad for her to die then, was it not? But I suppose it is all right—that everything is for the best—Mr. Pease says it is. Do you know Mr. Pease—has Mr. Pease ever told you about her; has he told you how Mrs. De Vrai used to live in the Five Points, and how little Katy used to sell hot corn?"
"No, nothing, but never mind that now. You were going to tell us about the stranger you were walking and chatting with so cosily."
"So I will."