“I know you, Théroigne.”
“Thou liest, thou! Thou takest me, I can see it, for some past poor victim of thy use and abuse, or, if not of thine, of another’s. I never was in Méricourt—dost thou hear?—unless it is a province of hell! I never appealed to the honour of a class that knows no honour but in name.”
Vergniaud, in some serene astonishment, came forward.
“Citizeness,” he said, “you surely amaze my friend, who is a child of the land of freedom.”
She laughed in one breath.
“Do I amaze him? I thought his looks claimed knowledge of me.”
Then she turned upon Ned once more, her furious disdain giving to the woman in her.
“I heard thou wert in Paris, monsieur le vicomte. Believe me, it is an evil place at this present for such as thou.”
“And from whom did you hear it, Mademoiselle Lambertine of Méricourt?” said Ned, with perfect coolness.
Her eyes flashed, her lips set at him.