“You are speaking,” answered she at last, “in a most foolish manner. When charges are made against people, proofs must be forthcoming.”
“Quite right, mademoiselle; but can you say that these proofs are not in my hands? Should you, however, desire to buy them, you are at liberty to do so. I give you the first option, and yet you grumble.”
As he spoke, he drew a battered leather pocket-book from his breast, and took from it a paper, which, after having been crumpled, had been carefully smoothed out again. Diana glanced at it, and then uttered a stifled cry of rage and fear, for she at once recognized her last letter to Norbert.
“That wretch, Francoise, has betrayed me,” exclaimed she, “and I saved her mother from a death by hunger and cold.”
The Counsellor held out the letter to her. She thought that he had no suspicion of her, and made an attempt to snatch it from him; but he was on his guard, and drew back with a sarcastic smile on his face.
“No, mademoiselle,” said he; “this is not the little bottle of poison; however, I will give it to you, together with another one, when I have obtained what I ask. Nothing for nothing, however; and if I must go to the scaffold, I will do so in good company.”
Mademoiselle de Laurebourg was in utter despair.
“But I have no money,” said she. “Where is a girl to find such a sum?”
“M. Norbert can find it.”
“Go to him, then.”