“No, no; never, Lisette.”

The woman turned in her chair to a chest that stood by her side, opened it, and took out a package carefully wrapped first in paper, then in a linen cloth.

When she had removed the wrappings, she held up in her hands a child’s chemise and petticoat.

“What is needed to complete these, your ladyship?” she asked.

“A dear little child, I should say,” answered Katharina, indulgently.

“You are right—­a dear little child.”

“Where is the child, Lisette?”

“That I don’t know—­do you understand? I—­don’t—­know. And I don’t inquire, either.  Now, will you still imagine that I have a tender heart?  It is years since I looked on these little garments.  What did I do with the child that wore them?  Whose business is it what I did with her?  She was my child, and I had a right to do as I pleased with her.  I was paid enough for it—­an enormous price!  You don’t understand what I am talking about, your ladyship.  Go; take mon petit garcon with you; and may God do so to you as you deal with him.  Take care of him.  My cards will tell me everything, and sometime, when I have turned into a hideous hobgoblin, those whom I shall haunt will remember me!  And now, mon petit garcon”—­turning again to Marie,—­“let me kiss your hand for the last time.”

Marie came close to the singular woman, bent over her, and pressed a kiss on the fat cheeks, then held her own for a return caress.

This action of the young girl seemed to please the woman.  She struggled to her feet, muttering:  “She is still the same.  May God guard her from all harm!” Then she waddled toward Katharina, took her slender hand in her own broad palm, and added:  “Take good care of my treasure, your ladyship.  Up to now, I have taken the broomstick every evening, before going to bed, and thrust it under all the furniture, to see if there might not be a thief hidden somewhere.  You will have to do that now.  A great treasure, great care!  And, your ladyship, when you shall have in your house such a little chemise and petticoat, with the little child in them, trotting after you, chattering and laughing, clasping her arms round you and kissing you, and if some one should say to you, as they said to me, ’How great a treasure would induce you to exchange this little somebody in the red petticoat for it?’ and if you should say, ’I will give up the child for so much,’ then, your ladyship, you too may say, as I say, that your heart is a heart of stone.”

Katharina’s face had grown very white.  She staggered toward Marie, caught her arm, and drew her toward the door, gasping: 

“Come—­come—­let us go.  The steam—­the heat of—­the kitchen makes—­me faint.”

The fresh air of the court soon revived her.

“Let us play a trick on Ludwig,” she suggested.  “We will take his canoe, and cross the cove to the manor.  We can send it back with a servant.”