“What are your plans of campaign, may I ask?”
“To get one hundred thousand francs from you.”
“That ridiculous old blunderbuss, Corbin! I suppose he has invited you to take up your quarters at Corbin Hall, indefinitely, without knowing any more about you than he does of the man in the moon.”
“He has—the dear, innocent old gentleman—and I shall stay until I get my one hundred thousand francs. But he shall not regret it. I know how to appreciate kindness. I have met with so little. The man I loved—my husband—squandered my dot, which I gave him, and it is on account of my rash fondness for one man that it is now absolutely necessary for me to have some money from another; and I intend to make every effort to get a hundred thousand francs from you.”
Mr. Romaine remained silent for a few minutes, considering a coup. Then his usual sly smile appeared upon his countenance. When he spoke his voice had more than its usual velvety softness.
“Your efforts, Madame de Fonblanque, will not be necessary; for I hereby declare to you my perfect willingness to marry you, and I shall put it in writing.”
It was now Madame de Fonblanque’s turn to be disconcerted. She fell back in her chair and gazed dumbly at Mr. Romaine. Marry him! And as she had laughed while Mr. Romaine had suffered, now he laughed wickedly while she literally cowered at the prospect presented to her.
“And as regards my sudden and speedy death, which you seem to anticipate, it could not benefit you”—he leaned over and said something to her in a low tone, which caused Madame de Fonblanque to start—“so that you will have the satisfaction of enjoying my money—such as I may choose to give you—as long as I live. But I warn you—I am not an easy man to live with, nor would the circumstances of our marriage render me more so. Ask Chessingham if I am easy to live with, and he will tell you that I am not, even at my best. It would not surprise me, in case our marriage took place, if you were to wish yourself free again. You say you desire revenge. So would I—and I would take it.”
Madame de Fonblanque grew steadily paler as Mr. Romaine spoke. She knew well enough the purgatory he was offering her. To marry him! Such an idea had never dawned upon her. The conviction of his insincerity had caused her coyness in the first instance which had stimulated Mr. Romaine so much. It had really looked, in the beginning, as if he would not succeed in the least in making a fool of this pretty French widow. But he had finally succeeded at the cost of making a fool of himself. However, it was now his turn to score—because it was plain that Madame de Fonblanque was anything but enraptured at the notion of marrying him.
She caught sight of Mr. Romaine’s black eyes dancing in enjoyment of her predicament. She rose and drew her fur cloak around her.