“Discharge me, madame? Oh!” cried Finette, in amazement.
“Yes—for your odious tattling last night. You ridiculed me—held me up to the derision of my own servants—and I shall punish you by discharging you without a character!” Mrs. de Vere retorted, violently.
“And all for the lies of that black hussy, Nance! Oh, madame! I nevaire could have believed this, after all my years of faithful service. But I shall punish the false negress—I will pull the black wool from her head!” stormed Finette, in a towering rage, and in a mixture of French and English impossible to transcribe.
“Be silent! How dare you behave so rudely in my presence?” cried Mrs. de Vere, with a stamp of her slippered foot, her hazel eyes flashing indignantly.
“But such lies! How can I bear it? Not a word of truth in it! That Nance envies me—lies to get me out of my place and turned away homeless. But I will tear her eyes out!” hissed Finette, viciously.
Mrs. de Vere smiled scornfully at the theatrical gestures of the excited French woman.
“You can spare yourself all these denunciations of the poor house-maid,” she said, impatiently. “It was not she who betrayed you; it was my husband, who was sitting in the rose arbor and overheard you and Nance.”
Finette stared—then leered.
“In the rose arbor! Ah, but that is strange!” she cried. “Why, it was just outside the rose arbor I met Nance. The hussy! she told me she had just come from a party. She led me on to talk about you, and all the time laughing in her sleeve, knowing he was there!”
The wicked significance of her looks and tones were most insulting to her mistress. Mrs. de Vere flushed burning red up to her temples.