“I will play blindfold,” he replied. “My mother has told me that that couple deserve the worst torments—”
“The rack is out of date,” said the old woman.
“You answer for the result?”
“Leave it all to me,” said the woman; “your vengeance is simmering.”
She looked at the clock; it was six.
“Your avenger is dressing; the fires are lighted at the Rocher de Cancale; the horses are pawing the ground; my irons are getting hot.—Oh, I know your Madame Marneffe by heart!—Everything is ready. And there are some boluses in the rat-trap; I will tell you to-morrow morning if the mouse is poisoned. I believe she will be; good evening, my son.”
“Good-bye, madame.”
“Do you know English?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my son, thou shalt be King. That is to say, you shall come into your inheritance,” said the dreadful old witch, foreseen by Shakespeare, and who seemed to know her Shakespeare.