The poor girl was almost outside, when she turned, and said,—
“Thank you, madam; but you owe me nothing.”
It was high time for Henrietta to leave. Her first surprise had been followed by mad anger, which drove the blood to her head, and made her weep bitter tears. She knew now that Mrs. Chevassat had caught her in this trap. What could the wretched woman have meant?
Carried away by an irresistible impulse, and no longer mistress of herself, Henrietta rushed down stairs, and broke like a whirlwind into the little box of the concierge, crying out,—
“How could you dare to send me to such people? You knew all about it. You are a wretch!”
Master Chevassat was the first to rise, and said,—
“What is the matter? Do you know to whom you are talking?”
But his wife interrupted him with a gesture, and, turning to Henrietta, said with cynic laughter,—
“Well, what next? Are these people not good enough for you; eh? In the first place, I am tired of your ways, my ‘pussy-cat.’ When one is a beggar, as you are, one stays at home like a good girl; and one does not run away with a young man, and gad about the world with lovers.”
Thereupon she took advantage of the fact that Henrietta had paused upon the threshold, to push her brutally out of the room at the risk of throwing her down, and fiercely banged the door. An hour afterwards the poor girl vehemently reproached herself for her passion.