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 “Well,” she said, “if there is no help for it, I must go to the kitchen.”

Cvok led the way, the baroness followed. Silently and hurriedly she hastened up to Pepíc̓ek, bent over him, and scrutinized him breathlessly, as a passionate numismatist will scrutinize some rare coin newly come to light. The usual cold expression of her face became perfectly rigid, her eyes alone moved convulsively. Certainty was now before her; those were the lineaments of the Poc̓ernický family—there was no longer any doubt about it. Her sharp eyes were fixed for a good while on one spot dear the left ear: they saw there the very same little brown mole that Mundy had in the identical spot. The baroness straightened herself, and looked round the kitchen.

“I must take the child with me!” she said in a commanding tone.

“That you shall not do!” answered the priest, manfully.

The kitchen door was ajar, and the figure of Mr. Ferdinand was seen hovering about the passage between the kitchen and the parlour.

At a slight nod from the baroness he entered the kitchen.

“Take that child away with you!” commanded his mistress.

The priest placed himself right before his housekeeper and the child; his eyes flashed fire. “Not one step further!” he thundered, stretching out his arm.

“Ferdinand,” cried the baroness, “run for the warden!”

“Not even he can dare to touch the child committed to my care,” said Cvok with energy. “Besides, you