“Mannie! Mannie!” she shrieked, in a voice choked by rage and dissipation, “come and kill him! He’s insulting me!”
Getting no response, she began to pour forth shriek upon shriek, mingled with oaths and ravings. “I shall speak to my sister! Who dares prevent me from speaking to my sister! You—” she glared at Yvonne and ground her teeth. “You, the good one. You! the mother’s pet! Ran away from home! Took up with an English hog!”
Yvonne sprang to her feet again.
“Leave the box,” she gasped.
“Ha! ha! Mais oui! leave the box! and let her dance while her mother lies dying!”
Yvonne gave a cry.
“Ah! Ah!” said her sister, suddenly speaking very slowly, nodding at every word. “Ah! Ah! go back to your room and see what is there—in the room of your lover—the little letter from Vernon. She wants you. She wants you. That is because you are so good. She does not want me. No, it is you who must come to see her die. I—I dance at the Carnival!”
Then, suddenly turning on Gethryn with a devilish grin, “You! tell your mistress her mother is dying!” She laughed hatefully, but preserved her pretense of calm, walked to the door, and as she reached it swung round and made an insulting gesture to Gethryn.
“You! I will remember you!”
The door slammed and a key rattled in the next box.