He looked at his aunt as he spoke; but she did not return his gaze. She was sitting rigid in her chair, staring over his shoulder with affrighted eyes. Alan turned round quickly, and started to his feet.
The woman in the other room had stealthily opened the door, and stood there, disheveled and half-dressed, with a cunning smile on her face.
"Alan, my husband!" she said, in French, holding out both hands to him, and reeling a step nearer, "here we are at last. I have longed for this day, my friend—let us be happy. After so many misfortunes, to be reunited once again! Is it not charming?"
She spoke incoherently, running her words into one another, and yet doing her best to be understood.
Alan looked at her steadily. "What do you want?" he asked. "Why have you sought me out?"
"My faith, what should I want? Money, to begin with."
"And then?"
"And then—justice! Bah! Am I not the daughter of Testard, who dispensed with his own hand the justice of Heaven against his persecutors?"
"I have heard that before," Alan said. "It was at Aix-les-Bains. And you still want justice!"
"Justice, my child. Was it not at Aix-les-Bains that you tried to kill Henri de Hauteville? Was it not in the park hard by that you shot at me, and almost assassinated me? But, have no fear! All I ask is money—the half of your income will satisfy me. Pay me that, and you are safe—unless my rage should transport me one of these fine days! Refuse, and I denounce you through the town, and play the game of scandal—as I know how to play it! Which shall it be?"