'I am, Madame—I am—in great danger! Oh, Madame, think of me—take pity on me! I have none to help me—there is no one but God and you!'
Madame all this time viewed me with the same dismal stare, like a sorceress reading futurity in my face.
'Well, maybe you are—how can I tell? Maybe your uncle is mad—maybe you are mad. You have been my enemy always—why should I care?'
Again I burst into wild entreaty, and, clasping her fast, poured forth my supplications with the bitterness of death.
'I have no confidence in you, little Maud; you are little rogue—petite traîtresse! Reflect, if you can, how you 'av always treat Madame. You 'av attempt to ruin me—you conspire with the bad domestics at Knowl to destroy me—and you expect me here to take a your part! You would never listen to me—you 'ad no mercy for me—you join to hunt me away from your house like wolf. Well, what you expect to find me now? Bah!'
This terrific 'Bah!' with a long nasal yell of scorn, rang in my ears like a clap of thunder.
'I say you are mad, petite insolente, to suppose I should care for you more than the poor hare it will care for the hound—more than the bird who has escape will love the oiseleur. I do not care—I ought not care. It is your turn to suffer. Lie down on your bed there, and suffer quaitely.'