My lady's head fell on her breast. Ah, no, Heaven knew her son was not a happy man.
"Leone," she said, in a low, hurried voice, "it is of my son I wish to speak to you. It is for my son's sake I am here—it is because I believe you to be his true friend and a noble woman that I am here, Leone—it is the first time I have called you by your name—I humble myself to you—will you listen to me?"
CHAPTER LVIII.
"BEHOLD MY REVENGE!"
Even as she spoke the words Lady Lanswell's heart sunk within her. No softening came to the beautiful face, no tenderness, no kindliness; it seemed rather as though her last words had turned Leone to stone. She grew pale even to her lips, she folded her hands with a hard clasp, her beautiful figure grew more erect and dignified—the words dropped slowly, each one seeming to cut the air as it fell.
"You call me noble, Lady Lanswell! you, who did your best to sully my fair name; you call me your son's best friend, when you flung me aside from him as though I had been of no more worth than the dust underneath his feet!"
Lady Lanswell bent forward.
"Will you not forget that?" she said. "Let the past die. I will own now that I was harsh, unjust, even cruel to you; but I repent it—I have never said as much before—I repent it, and I apologize to you! Will you accept my apology?"
The effort was so great for a proud woman to make, that the countess seemed almost to struggle for breath as she said the words. Leone looked on in proud, angry scorn.