The girl looked frightened again. She hesitated, she faltered, she looked from one man to the other, she began to cry and to sob. In vain did the elder try to get a word of answer from her; she would do nothing but sob and complain bitterly that there was no pleasing such masters, that she would take no more care of the child since she was not trusted. Monsieur might get somebody else to do it, for she would not.
And then, in the midst of her weeping, she suddenly stopped, raised her head, and strained her ears. Then, with a joyful cry, “Ha! My father!” she dashed open the door and admitted old Pierre, who looked from one to the other of the group with a mixture of anxiety and brutal cunning in his eyes.
CHAPTER XVIII.
RETRIBUTION
Marie sprang towards her father and poured out a torrent of broken words. Angry, anxious, excited, it was difficult to make out what sentiment was uppermost in her, and her father seemed also, at first, undecided as to the attitude he should adopt towards the two gentlemen.
“They accuse me, my father—they accuse me!” cried the girl, panting. “They say—Monsieur Bayre says—I do not take care of the child. He who comes here but once in six months, what should he know? He says this is not the child we are paid to take care of. My father, answer him, answer them both!”
Old Mr Bayre was standing with his back to the window, his arms folded, and his peaked cap, which he had not taken off on entering the cottage, drawn well down over his eyes. The expression of his mouth, however, denoted sufficiently the stern mood he was in. His nephew remained in the background, feeling awkward, but realising that he was bound to stand by his relative, since it was he who had brought about the discovery of the fraud.
“Whose child is it that you have there?” repeated old Mr Bayre, sternly. “Is it not the child of some fisherman, of some friend or relation of your own, that you are keeping there and making me pay for?”
Pierre had by this time made up his mind as to the attitude he should take up, and he faced his master with surly defiance.
“You shall hear all you want to know on that point, monsieur,” said he, “when we are by ourselves, you and I! It is no matter for discussion before others, as I think you will admit if you consider certain points which will have to be raised.”
This was a challenge. Old Mr Bayre knew this, and was silent for a moment, while Marie, who saw the scale turning in her favour, ventured to indulge in a short laugh. But the exhibition was premature. The old gentleman turned upon her savagely, and cried out, in threatening tones,—