"Oh, we can't let them starve."
"And why not, Angel, why not? The old devil! She has done enough mischief in the world, and now that her time has come, let her go. Does she expect us, us, to weep for her?"
"No, no; but I can't let her starve—you know I can't."
Marthe laughed again.
"No, perhaps not, but I could, and I would." She paused. "So you 'd heap coals of fire—feed her, save her, eh, Angel?"
"Oh, Marthe, don't! For the love of God, don't speak to me like that—when you know—when you know!"
Marthe pulled her down with an impulsive gesture that drew a groan from her.
"Ah, Ange," she said in a queer, broken voice; and Ange kissed her passionately and ran out of the room.
There was a long, heavy pause. Then Marthe said:
"So you've heard the story? Who told you?"