“Gold! There is a pile of it here—as high as that,” she said holding up her hand.
“It is not mine.”
“What does that matter?” she went on; “if we have need of it let us take it.”
“It does not belong to you.”
“Belong!” she repeated. “Have you not taken me? When we have taken it, it will belong to us.”
He gave a laugh.
“Poor innocent! You know nothing of the world.”
“Nay, but this is what I know,” she cried, clasping Henri to her.
At the very moment when De Marsay was forgetting all, and conceiving the desire to appropriate this creature forever, he received in the midst of his joy a dagger-thrust, which Paquita, who had lifted him vigorously in the air, as though to contemplate him, exclaimed: “Oh, Margarita!”
“Margarita!” cried the young man, with a roar; “now I know all that I still tried to disbelieve.”