“Then she is a fool if she has a man she does not like.”
“But then he will be revenged, take a deadly vengeance on the man whom he deems his rival.”
“And who may that be?”
“None other than yourself. Oh, my lord, how can you ask such a question?”
“Upon my word, Agatha, you are a most extraordinary girl.”
“You do not know the man you are dealing with, but I do,” exclaimed Agatha. “He is brave and impetuous, his passions are like a mountain torrent; his father is rich, but his grandfather was a smuggler, who thought as little of killing a fellow-creature as you think of plucking a flower. Gerome takes after his grandfather. Oh, monsieur, be warned in time. If he supposes you supplant him in the affections of my mistress, which you do, he will strike you down in one of the mountain passes without pity or remorse.”
“You are drawing a most terrible picture, my dear Agatha.”
“Not more terrible than true, my lord.”
“What would you advise me to do then?” he inquired.
“You must leave this house at once—you must quit this country, return to your native land, and await the issue of events. I don’t believe that Mademoiselle Theresa will give her hand to the young mountaineer after all that has passed.”