"Mad woman, mad woman!" he cried, in a loud voice, "you have avenged yourself, you say? Mad woman! Could you a mother, pretending to adore your daughter, coolly, unhesitatingly, conceive such crimes? I say, do you know what you have done?"
"My daughter, you named my daughter! Restore her to me! Tell me where she is, and I will save this woman. Oh! if I could but see her!"
"Your daughter, wretch? You serpent bursting with venom! Is it possible you think of her?"
"Oh, if I found her again, I would love her so."
"Do you fancy that possible?" said Don Tadeo.
"Oh, yes, a daughter cannot hate her mother."
"Ask herself, then!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.
"What! what! what!" she shrieked. In a tone of thrilling agony, and springing up as if electrified; "What did you say? What did you say, Don Tadeo?"
"I say, miserable wretch! that the innocent creature whom you have pursued with the inveteracy of a hungry hyena, is your daughter!—do you hear me? your daughter! She whom you pretend to love so dearly, and whom, a few minutes ago, you demanded of me so earnestly."
The Linda remained for an instant motionless, as if thunderstruck; and then exclaimed, with a loud, demoniac laugh—