"I have never thought of it since," said the countess, trying to conciliate still.
"Then I will remind you," said Leone. "I swore to be avenged, no matter what my vengeance cost. I swore that you should come and plead to me on your knees and I would laugh at you. I do so. I swore that you should plead to me, and I would remind you how I pleaded in vain. You wrung my heart—I will wring yours, and my only regret is that it is so hard and cold I cannot make you suffer more."
"You are mad," said my lady; "quite mad."
"No," said Leone, "I am sane, but mine was a mad love."
"You cannot know the consequence to yourself if you persist in this conduct," said my lady, serenely.
"Did you think of them for me when you set aside my marriage with your son, because you did not think me good enough to be a countess?" she asked. "Lady Lanswell, the hour of vengeance has come and I embrace it. Your son shall lose his wife, his home, his position, his honors; I care not what," she cried, with sudden recklessness—"I care not what the world says of me, I will do that which I shall do, less because I love your son than because I desire to punish you."
Lady Lanswell grew very pale as she listened.
"Yours is a terrible revenge," she said, gently. "I wish that you could invent some vengeance that would fall on my head—and on mine alone, so as to spare those who are dear to me. Could you not do that? I would willingly suffer anything to free my son and his fair, loving wife."
"No one spared me, nor will I in my turn spare," she said. "You shall know what it means to plead for dear life and plead in vain."
"Can I say nothing that will induce you to listen to me?" said the countess, "will you deliberately persist in the conduct that will ruin three lives?"