To do her justice, the countess shrunk from the words.
"I should suppose," she said, "that you will require some provision made for you, now that you are leaving my son?"
It was with difficulty that Leone controlled herself. Her whole frame trembled with indignation. Then the color receded from her face and left her white, silent, and motionless.
"I have been too hard," thought the countess, "no one can suffer beyond her strength."
She motioned the girl to take a chair, sitting down herself for the first time since the interview began. There was no feeling of pity in her heart, but she felt there were certain things to be said, and the best way would be to say them and have it all over.
Leone did not obey. She stood silent for a few minutes. Then she said, simply:
"I would never take money from you, Lady Lanswell, not even if I were dying of hunger. You do not like me; you are cruel to me."
Lady Lanswell interrupted her with a superb gesture of scorn.
"I could not possibly like or dislike you," she said; "you are less than nothing to me. It was natural that I should think you came to me for money. If that be not your object, may I ask what it is?"
"Yes; I will tell you. I thought, as you were a woman, I might appeal to you."