'Say that this adultery shall cease, or else—-'
'Or else you'll kill me?'
'Father!'
Agnes had stolen downstairs. She had waited a few moments on the threshold before she entered the room necessity ordained… and she stood pale and courageous between her parents.
Mrs. Lahens sat down on the ottoman, and, when the servant arrived with the lamp, Agnes saw that her mother, notwithstanding her paint, was like death. The servant looked under the lamp's shade and turned up the wicks; he drew the curtains, and at last the wide mahogany door swept noiselessly over the carpet, and the three were alone.
'I'm sorry, Agnes, that you were present just now. Such a scene never happened before. I assure you. A point arose between us, and I'm afraid we both forgot ourselves. It would be better if you went upstairs.'
'I see,' said Mrs. Lahens, 'that you understand each other. It is I who had better go.'
'No, mother, don't go. I would not have you think that—that—oh, how am I to say it?'
Mrs. Lahens looked at her daughter—a strange look it was, of surprise and inquiry.
'Mother, I have been but an apple of discord thrown between you….
But, indeed, it was not my fault. Mother, dear, it was not my fault.'