At about the same hour the second act of this drama was proceeding in the torture-chamber of the Lapussa family.
Henrietta had returned home from her little tour laden with flowers, when old Demetrius sent word to her that he would like to see her in his room. He had taken the precaution of sending Madame Langai away shortly before and Mr. John was absent at the Corn Exchange.
"My little maid, Hetty, come nearer to me," said the old gentleman, turning sideways on his couch and ferreting out from beneath his pillows a concave snuff-box, "pray do not be angry with me for putting you to inconvenience. Bear with me for the little time I have still to live. But if you find living under the same roof with me unendurable, all the greater reason for you to seize the opportunity of releasing yourself as quickly as possible."
Henrietta was too much used to these choleric outbursts to think of replying to them.
"Pray, put your hand beneath my pillow. You will find a packet of papers there. Take them out and look at them."
Henrietta did with stolid indifference what the old man bade her and drew forth from this peculiar repository—which served as a sort of lair for snuff-boxes, pill-boxes and odd bits of pastry—a large bundle of manuscripts which she recognized at the first glance. The apprehended papers, which during her illness had prevented her from sleeping, which had made it impossible for her to get well, were now in the possession of him from whom she had been most anxious to conceal them. The criminal stood face to face with the witness whose damning evidence was to condemn her. There was no escape, no defence.
"My little maid," said the old man, exultantly stuffing his eagle nose full of that infernal heating material which goes by the name of snuff, "don't be angry with me for directing your attention to this scribble. I don't want to make any use of it. I know quite enough of it already, but be so good as to listen to me!"
Henrietta absolutely could not look away from her grandfather's blood-shot eyes; it seemed to her as if those eyes must gradually bore through to her very heart.
"You won't marry an eminent and wealthy man who bestows an honour upon your family by asking for your hand, and yet you would run away with a worthless fellow who does not even know why he was put into the world, and when your family steps in to prevent it, you would violently put yourself to death in order to die with him, to our eternal shame and dishonour. That was not nice of you. But sit down. I see you are all of a tremble. I would fetch you a chair myself if it was not for this infernal gout of mine."
Henrietta accepted the invitation and sat down, otherwise she must have collapsed.