“Life?” cried the patroon. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him in contempt and rage.
“Who is it that you say wants for nothing?”
“Louis, you hag,” he hissed between his teeth. “Louis Van Ramm.”
She fell into a mocking laugh that was terrible to hear.
“You thought it was Louis, did you? He was my son well enough, born in lawful wedlock; but he was no son of yours. Did you think I told the truth when I came back to live on you? Ha, ha, I was a bonny lass then. Do you remember how you pleaded for my love and the use of my shapely body? ‘I’ll marry you, Meg, if anything goes wrong.’ Those were your very words and everything went wrong and—”
Here the patroon caught her by the shoulder and shook her violently.
“Stop. If Louis is not our child, who is?”
“Ha, ha, ha! You dolt! You idiot! You liar, thief—” She paused for a moment and then almost shrieked out the word “Murderer.”
“Murderer!”