He didn't reply at once, and that angered her.
"Must I plead with you even for speech?" she asked satirically. "Has it come to this? Will you not smile and throw a crumb of comfort to your bond-woman?"
"I have had nothing to say—until now," he replied, very quietly, over his coffee cup.
She only laughed at him and swept the ground with a low curtsey.
"Thy slave listens. Speak! To what decision has my lord and master arrived?" she asked.
He swallowed his coffee deliberately, unsmiling, his gaze over the valley where the railroad track wormed its way into the North.
"That you're to go to your friends in Paris—at once," he said decisively.
And while she watched him scornfully, the slow fire in her eyes burning suddenly into brightness, he took from his pocket a wallet he had never seen before, and counted out upon the ground some money.
"This," he continued calmly, "is yours. You have earned it. I have kept count. I will owe you, too—what is realized from the sale of—of Clarissa. Or, if you prefer it, I will pay you that now. I hope you will find the arrangement satisfactory."
He had arrested her mockery and she stood silent while he spoke, her gaze upon the ground. But her mood broke forth again with even greater virulence.