"Little one， make your goat perform a miracle.""I do not know what you mean，" replied the dancer.
"A miracle， a piece of magic， a bit of sorcery， in short.""I do not understand." And she fell to caressing the pretty animal， repeating， "Djali！ Djali！"At that moment Fleur-de-Lys noticed a little bag of embroidered leather suspended from the neck of the goat，--"What is that？" she asked of the gypsy.
The gypsy raised her large eyes upon her and replied gravely，--"That is my secret."
"I should really like to know what your secret is，" thought Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile， the good dame had risen angrily，--" Come now， gypsy， if neither you nor your goat can dance for us， what are you doing here？"The gypsy walked slowly towards the door， without making any reply. But the nearer she approached it， the more her pace slackened. An irresistible magnet seemed to hold her. Suddenly she turned her eyes， wet with tears， towards Phoebus， and halted.
"True God！" exclaimed the captain， "that's not the way to depart. Come back and dance something for us. By the way， my sweet love， what is your name？""La Esmeralda，" said the dancer， never taking her eyes from him.
At this strange name， a burst of wild laughter broke from the young girls.
"Here's a terrible name for a young lady，" said Diane.
"You see well enough，" retorted Amelotte， "that she is an enchantress.""My dear，" exclaimed Dame Aloise solemnly， "your parents did not commit the sin of giving you that name at the baptismal font."In the meantime， several minutes previously， Bérangère had coaxed the goat into a corner of the room with a marchpane cake， without any one having noticed her. In an instant they had become good friends. The curious child had detached the bag from the goat's neck， had opened it， and had emptied out its contents on the rush matting； it was an alphabet， each letter of which was separately inscribed on a tiny block of boxwood. Hardly had these playthings been spread out on the matting， when the child， with surprise， beheld the goat (one of whose "miracles" this was no doubt)， draw out certain letters with its golden hoof， and arrange them， with gentle pushes， in a certain order. In a moment they constituted a word， which the goat seemed to have been trained to write， so little hesitation did it show in forming it， and Bérangère suddenly exclaimed， clasping her hands in admiration，--"Godmother Fleur-de-Lys， see what the goat has just done！"Fleur-de-Lys ran up and trembled. The letters arranged upon the floor formed this word，--PHOEBUS.
"Was it the goat who wrote that？" she inquired in a changed voice.
"Yes， godmother，" replied Bérangêre.
It was impossible to doubt it； the child did not know how to write.
"This is the secret！" thought Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile， at the child's exclamation， all had hastened up， the mother， the young girls， the gypsy， and the officer.
The gypsy beheld the piece of folly which the goat had committed. She turned red， then pale， and began to tremble like a culprit before the captain， who gazed at her with a smile of satisfaction and amazement.
"Phoebus！" whispered the young girls， stupefied： "'tis the captain's name！""You have a marvellous memory！" said Fleur-de-Lys， to the petrified gypsy. Then， bursting into sobs： "Oh！" she stammered mournfully， hiding her face in both her beautiful hands， "she is a magician！" And she heard another and a still more bitter voice at the bottom of her heart， saying，--"She is a rival！"
She fell fainting.
"My daughter！ my daughter！" cried the terrified mother.
"Begone， you gypsy of hell！"
In a twinkling， La Esmeralda gathered up the unlucky letters， made a sign to Djali， and went out through one door， while Fleur-de-Lys was being carried out through the other.
Captain Phoebus， on being left alone， hesitated for a moment between the two doors， then he followed the gypsy.
