“Then my curse be upon you—my curse be upon your dwelling, and all whom it contains!” cried the old woman, suddenly recovering her own energy and firmness—for the last words of her daughter had goaded her to desperation.
“The curses of fiends turn to blessings,” said Laura, in a calm and deliberate voice.
“But a mother’s curse is a terrible—terrible thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, fixing her haggard eyes intently upon her daughter, who returned the gaze with looks of proud disdain and haughty defiance.
The old woman then rose slowly from her seat, and as slowly walked towards the door; on reaching which she turned round, and said, “Is there no way of restoring peace between us?”
“None,” was the resolute and laconic answer.
Mrs. Mortimer hesitated yet for a few moments; then, as if suddenly embracing a desperate resolve, or struck by some terrible idea of vengeance, she abruptly quitted the room.
Laura listened, with suspended breath, to hear whether there was any one in the hall for her mother to speak to; but her apprehensions on this head were speedily relieved, and in a few moments the front door closed behind the old woman.
The Count of Carignano, who had watched her departure from the drawing-room window, now hastened to join his lovely wife.
“The interview has been a long one—and, I fear, not altogether pleasant, dearest,” he exclaimed, as he clasped Laura in his arms.
“My mother wished to exercise over me a despotism to which I cannot yield,” responded the bride. “But wherefore did you conjecture that our meeting was disagreeable?”