"Where you will not see her, until we understand each other," rejoins the determined woman. Her steady glance pierces his very soul. Memories of old days thrill his bosom.
"What do you mean by all this?" Hardin's nerve returns. He must not yield to mortal.
The woman who queened it over his home, extends a jewelled hand with an envelop. "Explain this," she sharply cries.
The Judge reads it. It is the announcement of his double senatorial and matrimonial campaign.
"Is there any foundation for that report?" Madame de Santos deliberately asks.
"There is," briefly rejoins the lawyer. He muses a moment. What devil is awakened in her now? This is no old-time pleading suppliant.
"Then you will not see Isabel until you have settled with me and provided the funds promised before the death of the count."
"Ah!" sneers the old advocate; "I understand you NOW, madame. Blood money!"
"Partly," remarks Madame de Santos. "I also insist upon your giving up this marriage."
Hardin springs from his chair. Age has robbed him of none of his cold defiance. He will crush her.