Here Papa Ravinet suddenly paused, and, looking at Daniel, said,—­

“You must not believe, M. Champcey, that these details are imaginary.  I have spent five years of my life in tracing out Sarah’s early life,—­five years, during which I have been going from door to door, ever in search of information.  A dealer in second-hand goods enters everywhere without exciting suspicion.  And then I have witnesses to prove everything I have told you so far,—­witnesses whom I shall summon, and who will speak whenever the necessity arises to establish the identity of the Countess Sarah.”

Daniel made no reply.

Like Henrietta, even like Mrs. Bertolle, at this moment he was completely fascinated by the old gentleman’s manner and tone.  The latter, after having rested for a few minutes, went on,—­

“The man who picked up Sarah was an old German artist, painter and musician both, of rare genius, but a maniac, as they called him.  At all events, he was a good, an excellent man.

“One winter morning, as he was at work in his studio, he was struck by the strange ring in a woman’s voice, which recited in the court-yard below a popular song.  He went to the window, and beckoned the singer to come up.  It was Sarah; and she came.  The good German used often to speak of the deep compassion which seized him as he saw this tall girl of fourteen come into his studio,—­a child, stained by vice already, thin like hunger itself, and shivering in her thin calico dress.  But he was at the same time almost dazzled by the rich promises of beauty in her face, the pure notes of her superb voice, which had withstood so far, and the surprising intelligence beaming in her features.

“He guessed what there was in her; he saw her, in his mind’s eye, such as she was to be at twenty.

“Then he asked her how she had come to be reduced to such misery, who she was, where her parents lived, and what they did for a living.  When she had told him that she stood quite alone, and was dependent on no one, he said to her,—­

“’Well, if you will stay with me, I will adopt you; you shall be my daughter; and I will make you an eminent artist.’

“The studio was warm, and it was bitterly cold outside.  Sarah had no roof over her head, and had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours.  She accepted.

“She accepted, be it understood, not doubting, in her perversity, but that this kind old man had other intentions besides those he mentioned in offering her a home.  She was mistaken.  He recognized in her marvellous talents, and thought of nothing but of making of her a true marvel, which should astonish the world.  He devoted himself heart and soul to his new favorite, with all the enthusiastic ardor of an artist, and all the jealous passion of an amateur.

“It was a hard task, however, which he had undertaken.  Sarah could not even read.  She knew nothing, except sin.