"I say, no," she reiterated.
"Eh, mademoiselle, but you are not the father," said Judas, with a sneer.
"You marry Miss Marson," cried Judith, angrily; "you! How dare you, sir, come to the house of an English gentleman and make such a request? You—you—thief!"
"Thief, mademoiselle!" said the Frenchman, smiling.
"Yes! I know that you have stolen some letters from that packet addressed to me."
"Eh, but it is true, mademoiselle. I have just been showing them to Monsieur Mar-rson, and he is so delighted, this dear monsieur, that he says to me: 'Take now the charming angel, Jules; she is for you.'"
"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" cried Judith, turning towards the old man. "Mr. Marson, you will never consent to give your daughter to this low spy!"
"Eh, mademoiselle, you are not polite."
"Speak to this man, Mr. Marson; tell him you refuse to do his bidding."
The old man raised his hands helplessly and sighed.