“For Heaven’s sake, madam,” she said, “spare your father!”
And, as Henrietta measured her from head to foot with an insulting glance, she went on,—
“Dear count, don’t you see that your violence is killing me?”
Promptly Count Ville-Handry let his daughter go, and, drawing back, he said,—
“Thank her, thank this angel of goodness who intercedes in your behalf! But have a care! my patience is at an end. There are such things as houses of correction for rebellious children and perverse daughters.”
She interrupted him by a gesture, and exclaimed with startling energy,—
“Be it so, father! Choose among all these houses the very strictest, and send me there. Whatever I may have to suffer there, it will be better than being here, as long as I see in the place of my mother that—woman!”
“Wretch!” howled the count.
He was suffocating. By a violent effort he tore off his cravat; and, conscious that he was no longer master of himself, he cried to his daughter,—
“Leave me, leave me! or I answer for nothing.” She hesitated a moment.