"Not half a sou,—for you to go or stay. Sophie, are you not a fool to ask me for money?"
"And you are a fool,—a fool who knows nothing. You need not look at me like that. I am not afraid. I shall remain here. I shall stay and do as the lawyer tells me. He says that if I bring my action she must pay me for my expenses. I will bring my action. I am not going to leave it all to you. No. Do you remember those days in Florence? I have not been paid yet, but I will be paid. One hundred and seventy-five thousand francs a year,—and after all I am to have none of it! Say;—should it become yours, will you do something for your sister?"
"Nothing at all;—nothing. Sophie, do you think I am fool enough to bargain in such a matter?"
"Then I will stay. Yes;—I will bring my action. All the world shall hear, and they shall know how you have destroyed me and yourself. Ah;—you think I am afraid; that I will not spend my money. I will spend all,—all,—all; and I will be revenged."
"You may go or stay; it is the same thing to me. Now, if you please, I will take my leave." And he got up from his chair to leave her.
"It is the same thing to you?"
"Quite the same."
"Then I will stay, and she shall hear my name every day of her life;—every hour. She shall be so sick of me and of you, that,—that—that— Oh, Edouard!" This last appeal was made to him because he was already at the door, and could not be stopped in any other way.
"What else have you to say, my sister?"
"Oh, Edouard, what would I not give to see all those riches yours? Has it not been my dearest wish? Edouard, you are ungrateful. All men are ungrateful." Now, having succeeded in stopping him, she buried her face in the corner of the sofa and wept plentifully. It must be presumed that her acting before her brother must have been altogether thrown away; but the acting was, nevertheless, very good.