“Oh, no, never!” cried Marion, who was aghast with horror. “You killed him in a fit of ungovernable temper. It was not because of me—I am innocent, Carlotta.”
“I do not choose to think so,” said the woman, scornfully. “I vowed to have revenge and I have won it—to my sorrow!”
The groan of agony that followed these words almost melted Marion’s heart to pity. The woman was vile, she was all that was loathsome and bad, yet God alone knew the depths of her suffering.
In another instant she was shaking with sobs; yet her great dark eyes only burned with the agony of hate: there was no tears of relief for the wretched Carlotta.
“Why have you brought me here?” demanded Marion again, as soon as she could control herself sufficiently to ask the question.
The answer sent a thrill of horror through every fiber of her body, it was so utterly diabolical, so cold, cruel and fiendish.
Carlotta raised her head and fixed her burning eyes upon Marion’s face.
“This is an opium den, the best and the worst in the city,” she said, hoarsely. “Men and women come here to live and die. It is better, they think, than dying in prison. I have come here to smoke the drug and dream. I want to sleep and dream—to dream and sleep. Perhaps I shall find rest for the agony of my soul; perhaps I shall only find torture to the very end; but in either case I want you here to keep me company.”