“She was ignorant,” faltered Gilbert, astounded.
“Help, help,” screamed Andrea, rushing into the house; “here he is, Philip!”
He followed her close.
“Would you murder me,” she hissed, brought to bay.
“No; it is to do good, not harm that this time I have come. If I proposed marriage it was to act my part fitly; and I did not even expect you to bear my name. But there is another for whom see these one hundred thousand livres which a generous patron gives me for marriage portion.”
He placed the banknotes on the table which served as barrier between them. “I want nothing but the little air I breathe and the little pit, my grave, while the child, my child, our child has the money!”
“Man, you make a grave error,” said she, “you have no child. It has but one parent, the mother—you are not the father of my infant.”
Taking up the notes, she flung them in his face as he retreated. He was made so furious that Andrea’s good angel might tremble for her. But at the same moment the door was slammed in his flaming face as if by that violent act she divided the past forever from the present.
CHAPTER XL.
DECEMBER THE FIFTEENTH.
IN the morning after a sleepless night, Gilbert went to Count Fenix’s.