Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the
identity of this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look
once upon the ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender
figure on the bed before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme.
Martinetti.
"And now for the paper," I said.
"It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany."
We walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which
hung the parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to
get rid of its miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick,
perfectly quiet and rational.
"I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!" muttered the good
sister, turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about
the room had perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in
the search.
"It surely was in an envelope?" I said to the innocent woman.
"Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the _cire_--you call
it _wax_--myself and held it for her, _la bonne soeur_."
"It is not always wise to leave such letters about," I put in as
meekly as I could "Where was it you saw it last?"
"On dees little table, monsieur."
Now, "dees little table" was between the two windows, and not far,
consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table
to the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of
it was strewn with something white--like very, very tiny scraps of
paper. "I think you need not look any further," said I. "Polly, you
either are very clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which
is it?"
But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or
other and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that
nothing remained of it for identification except the wax, which it
did not touch and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been
the parrot's all along belonged to the parrot still, and after
having devoured it in that fashion it became satisfied, and never--
at least, as far as I am aware--reverted morbidly to the comic
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