"By my son's: you know . . . the one you've seen."
"Is he your son, the murderer, the monster?"
"He's the son of . . ."
"Silence! Silence!" Véronique commanded. She understood that the woman had been Vorski's mistress and feared that she would make some disclosure in François' presence. "Silence: that name is not to be spoken."
"It will be when it has to be," said the woman. "Ah, I've suffered enough through you, Véronique: it's your turn now; and you're only at the beginning of it!"
"Go!" cried Véronique, pointing her revolver.
"Once more, no threats, please."
"Go, or I fire! I swear it on the head of my son."
The woman retreated, betraying a certain anxiety in spite of herself. But she was seized with a fresh access of rage. Impotently she raised her clenched fists and shouted, in a raucous, broken voice:
"I will be revenged . . . You shall see. Véronique . . . . The cross—do you understand?—the cross is ready . . . . You are the fourth . . . . What, oh, what a revenge!"