“Give me that letter, madam!”
Clarissa had fled when she saw her treachery discovered.
“This letter,” replied the countess coldly, “I shall hand to your father, madam, as it is my duty to do.”
“Ah, take care, madam!” broke in the poor girl with a threatening gesture; “take care! My patience has its limits.”
Her attitude and her accent were so terrible, that the countess thought it prudent to put a table between herself and her victim. But suddenly a great revolution had taken place in Henrietta’s heart. She said roughly,—
“Look here, madam, let us have an explanation while we are alone. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, I assure you.”
“Nothing? Who is it, then, that has meanly slandered me, has robbed me of my father’s affection, surrounds me with spies, and overwhelms me with insults? Who forces me to lead this wretched life to which I am condemned?”
The countess showed in her features how deeply she was reflecting. She was evidently calculating the effect of a new plan.
“You will have it so,” she replied resolutely. “Very well, then, I will be frank with you. Yes, I am bent on ruining you. Why? You know it as well as I do. I will ask you, in my turn, who is it that has done every thing that could possibly be done to prevent my marriage? Who has endeavored to crush me? Who would like to drive me from this house like an infamous person? Is it not you, always you? Yes, you are right. I hate you; I hate you unto death, and I avenge myself!”