“Git out!” says Franz, as he lifts her and turns toward Mamma. “You’ve done it now, you old cat. Let me lay her down.”
He carries Leslie to the bed, and places her upon it so gently that Mamma sneers and glares upon him scornfully.
“Ye’re a fool, Franz Francoise.”
“Now mark my words: You will never find her. She will never see daylight again.”—[page 354].
“Shet up, you! Ye’ve got somethin’ to do besides talk. D’ye mean to have her die on our hands?”
“‘Twon’t matter much, it seems.”
“I tell ye ’twill matter. Do ye think this thing’s settled? Not much. We’re goin’ ter bring her to terms yet, but she’s got ter be alive first.”
She turns upon him a look in which anger and admiration are curiously mingled.