"Because that is not her place, monsieur le comte, and because, no doubt, you would not be pleased to see her there," said Ambroisine, stepping forward with a resolute air.
As he recognized Hugonnet's daughter, Léodgard could not restrain an angry gesture. He glanced at her disdainfully and muttered:
"What! is it you? By hell! you are persistent! You have been to my house too often already; you must have understood that I did not choose to receive you. You have no right to violate a person's domicile thus!—Understand, my dear, that this is not your father's bathing establishment, where anyone who pleases has a right to enter."
"Oh! I know quite well that I am not in my father's house, monsieur le comte; there is no possibility of mistake on that score. For Master Hugonnet's house is the house of an honorable man, from which those who come to demand justice are not turned away."
"On my soul, I believe that she presumes to be impertinent!—Begone! I have nothing to say to you!"
"And I did not come here to talk, monsieur, but to demand an answer to the letter you have received."
"What letter?"
"The letter from Bathilde—that poor girl whom you have deceived and seduced, and who bears within her the result of her fault. When she implores you in her child's name, can you be deaf to her prayer? What shall I say to Bathilde, monsieur le comte?"
"Nothing! I do not answer such letters! Upon my word, these girls are mad! We do them the honor to think them pretty, to make love to them, and they expect that sort of thing to last forever!—Your friend will be consoled.—Adieu!"
"Monsieur le comte," said Ambroisine, falling at Léodgard's knees, "for the love of heaven, have some pity for Bathilde, who believed your oaths!—Give her back her honor; remember that her parents have cast her out!—Excuse me for not addressing you with more respect. Treat me as harshly as you will, but be moved by Bathilde's suffering, I implore you!"