“Deschamps swore it would do no real harm. Do I not tell you that Deschamps and I always liked each other? We were old friends. I sympathized with her; she is growing old.”

“How much did she promise to pay you?”

“Not a sou — not a centime. I swear it.” The girl stamped her foot and threw up her head, reddening with the earnestness of her disclaimer. “What I did, I did from love; and I thought it would not harm mademoiselle, really.”

“Nevertheless you might have killed your mistress.”

“Alas!”

“Answer me this: Now that your attempt has failed, what will Deschamps do? Will she stop, or will she try something else?”