“Madam!”
“Wait! What had I done to you before my marriage? Nothing. You did not even know me by name. They came and told you atrocious stories invented by my enemies, and you believed them. Your father told you, ‘They are wicked libels.’ What did you answer? That ‘those only are libelled who deserve it.’ I wanted to prove to you that it is not so. You are the purest and chastest of girls whom I know; are you not? Very well. I defy you to find a single person around you who does not believe that you have had lovers.”
Extreme situations have this peculiarity, that the principal actors may be agitated by the most furious passions, and still outwardly preserve the greatest calmness. Thus these two women, who were burning with mortal hatred, spoke with an almost calm voice.
“And you think, madam,” resumed Henrietta, “that sufferings like mine can be long continued?”
“They will be continued till it pleases me to make an end to them.”
“Or till I come of age.”
The countess made a great effort to conceal her surprise.
“Oh!” she said to herself. “Oh, oh!”
“Or,” continued the young girl, “till he returns whom you have taken from me, my betrothed, M. Daniel Champcey.”
“Stop, madam. You are mistaken. It was not I who sent Daniel away.”