“What! Are you her mother?”
“Yes; Nina, that horrible woman, is my daughter.”
“Really? Everybody says you are her sister.”
“That is the horrible part of it, everybody is right.”
“Explain yourself!”
“Yes, though it is to my shame. She is my sister and my daughter, for she is the daughter of my father.”
“What! your father loved you?”
“I do not know whether the scoundrel loved me, but he treated me as his wife. I was sixteen then. She is the daughter of the crime, and God knows she is sufficient punishment for it. My father died to escape her vengeance; may he also escape the vengeance of God. I should have strangled her in her cradle, but maybe I shall strangle her yet. If I do not, she will kill me.”
I remained dumb at the conclusion of this dreadful story, which bore all the marks of truth.
“Does Nina know that you are her mother?”