“The gentleman will not discontinue his visits to my house!” answers Hermoine, a defiant light in her eyes.
“You forget you are speaking to your duenna.”
“Remember I am Doña de Alva!”
“Very well, in that case I shall send letter to your father at once.”
“You will make no mention of this to my father. I will tell him in my own way at my own time.”
“Won’t I!” breaks out the duenna. “Won’t I! Do you think I could bear your father’s anger?”
“Then take MINE!” cries the girl, and walking up to her duenna, a great flash in her haughty eyes, she says: “Dare to breathe word of this to any one until I give you my orders to that effect, and I tell my father that four years ago, when I was too young for you to think I noticed the affairs of State, you, for two thousand crowns in hand, gave warning to young Brederode so that he escaped from Brussels and arrest and execution!”
“What proofs have you of this?” gasps the Countess.
“Only Brederode’s letter thanking you for giving him warning, and stating that he had paid you enough and would give you no more. I have it locked up. Do you suppose that I would have let you stay here by me unless I knew that I could dominate you when I pleased?” jeers Hermoine.
“I—I had such need of money,” stammers La Pariza.