CHAPTER XXXII.
A PÆAN OF VICTORY HYMNED IN HELL.
On the day following that upon which Leonard and Natalie had last met in Leonard's study, there were two women in a room of a shabby New York house, evidently once a worthy residence, but now sadly fallen from that estate.
One of the two, half dressed, with a good deal of tarnished lace decorating such clothing as she had on, sat on the bed in an easy attitude, careless as to the display of a handsome person. Dark, heavy-browed, her first youth past, her haggard face was redeemed by deep, soft eyes, that now, however, from beneath their long lashes, looked out upon the face of the other woman with suspicious wariness.
This one, overfed, coarse, vile to look upon, with the face of a painted gargoyle, red and mottled, garishly dressed in a loose gown, stood with arms akimbo, her little eyes bent wickedly upon the woman on the bed.
"Ten days' board," croaked the fat one. "Ten days."
"Ten weeks, for all I care," was the reply.
The fat creature wheezed and snorted; she half lifted her great red hand as if to administer a blow.
"Try it," said the other, "and I'll stick this into you," holding threateningly the blade of a pair of scissors.