"Be it so, then!" she said, with pathetic sadness. "If my own mother—"
"Mother? Hush that! I don't believe a word of it! Brown may talk, and swear that he never lost sight of you, but he needn't tell me! My daughter! why don't you glory in the stage, then? Why don't you go down on your knees and thank me for that voice? Don't dare to call me mother till you can learn how to obey me!"
"I cannot obey you in this. If you drive me out to perish in the street I will not!"
"Then into the street you go! Let Brown try his hand at earning a living for you. It is more his duty than mine."
Caroline turned a wild, wistful look on the woman as she said this; then she moved a step toward her, and the tones of her voice, as they came through her white lips, were mournful and stormy, like wind over snow.
"What do you mean, madam? What is it that you insinuate?"
"Only this," answered Olympia, with a malicious laugh. "As you are resolved—as you never will be anything to me again, and are determined to throw away all your advantages, I think the truth will bring down your pride a little, and so mean to give it just for once. I really do suppose that you are my daughter—else, where did you get the voice you are giving to the wind? But, if you are, that man Brown is your father, for he was my husband once."
Caroline stood looking at the woman, white and still, her large eyes widening, all her features in a tumult. Then she fell upon her knees, covered her face with both hands, and cried out:
"Oh, my God! is this good man my father? Are these the thrills of joy that a child knows for its parent?"
A man who had opened the door of Olympia's boudoir was arrested on the threshold by these words.