As he crumples it in his hand, Leslie moves toward Mamma Francoise, seeming in one moment to have mastered all her fears.
“This paper,” she says, turning her clear eyes upon Mamma, “confirms what I have suspected, ever since you proposed this marriage with your son, as the price of little Daisy’s deliverance. You know the secret of my birth and believe me to be an heiress. You stole little Daisy to compel me to this,”—pointing at the paper in the hand of Franz—“and since your son has returned, you would strengthen your own position while you enrich him. It was a clever plot, but overdone. Give me the pen, give me the paper. Rather than leave little Daisy longer at your mercy, I would resign to you an hundred fortunes were they mine.”
She moves toward the table, but Franz is before her.
“Oh, no!” he says, quietly; “I guess not! I don’t seem to cut much of a figure in that little transaction on paper, but I’m blessed if I don’t hold my own in this business. Ye can’t sign that paper; not yet.”
Leslie turns from him and again addresses Mamma.
“Listen to me,” she says. “I know your scheme now, and I know how to deal with you. I never meant to marry this man. I never will. You want money; give me back little Daisy, and I will sign this paper, or any other you may frame. And I will swear never to complain against you, never to molest you, never to reveal the secret of these awful weeks. There let it end: I will never marry your son!”
With a sudden motion, Mamma turns upon Franz, and attempts to snatch the paper from his hand.
“Give me that paper, boy!” she fairly hisses.
But he repulses her savagely, and thrusts the paper into his breast.
“Take care, old woman!” he exclaims hotly. “I ain’t your son for nothing; what do ye take me for?”