"I understand that to be in the bargain, senorita," he returned, formally. "You will not find me shirking any of the responsibility I have undertaken."
"Very well. Leave your address upon that table, I shall send for you when I need you."
It seemed to her that it would have been impossible for her to stand there watching him until he had written it out and left the room. The very sight of him nauseated her—oppressed her with terrible loathing. She turned from him and left the room with that stately dignity which was so recently acquired a characteristic, and slowly mounted the stairs to her room, feeling worn and weary, as if some new and hideous affliction weighed upon her, instead of the accomplishment of a cherished revenge.
She had scarcely deserted the library when, through the portière through which she had listened the evening before to the conversation between Meriaz and Pierrepont, Jessica glided with the grace of a shining serpent. She went straight up to Meriaz and smiled into his face with as singular a fascination as she had been wont to use upon her victims in society.
"Well," she exclaimed, half caressingly, "you have accomplished it?"
He laughed slightly—not a pleasant sound; but she did not shrink from it in the least.
"You put a good job in my way, little one," he said, familiarly. "Twenty thousand ain't picked up every day in the week. It was a lucky stroke for me the day I started for New York, but that walk down by the old Donato Mine was a still luckier one. It ain't safe for us to talk too much here, for I have found that walls have ears just as often as little pitchers, and this room is a particularly good place for eavesdroppers. But there is one thing I want you to do for me, little one."
"What is it?"
"I want about five minutes' conversation with your mother."
"What about?"