"Whoever I may be, whatever I attempted to do, you tore that paper. It was you who destroyed it," said Edmé as she wrenched herself free from the woman's grasp.
The only answer of La Liberté was a loud and scornful laugh. She approached Edmé again with a malignant glitter in her eyes; but Edmé held her ground and confronted her bravely.
"So you are Edmé de Rochefort," repeated La Liberté slowly. "I remember having seen you years ago when I was a girl of fifteen, at my father's mill near the village of La Thierry. You were a pale-faced girl then. You didn't wear coarse clothes then! You drove in your carriage, and didn't look at such as me; but I saw you, and hated you for being so proud. Then there was a certain marquis." A bright spot appeared on Edmé's cheek, but she did not speak.
"He came to pay his court to you, but he made love to me. He never even made a pretense of loving you. But he cared for me in his cold, selfish way. He took me to Paris, gave me everything money could buy, for a while. Then he left me, and went back to you. I hated you for that. You did not care for him. You did not marry him. That made no difference to me. Then there was another man. He was not for you. He was of my class, not yours. You had no right to his love. He never loved me, I know. I am too proud to say he loved me when it was not so. But he was kind to me. He was noble and generous, and I loved him. You had no right to him. I hate you for that more than all." Her passion wrought upon her so that her once pretty face was something fearful to behold. Edmé expected at each breath she would spring forward and tear her like a tiger cat.
"I care not for your hatred," Edmé retorted calmly. "I never willfully wronged you. Your hatred cannot harm me."
"No?" demanded the frenzied La Liberté. "It can restore this paper. I can denounce you. I can send you with your lover to the guillotine."
"That does not terrify me," replied Edmé. "You can send the woman you hate and the man you profess to love into another world together. That is all you can do. I am above your hatred."
La Liberté started to speak, then checked herself.
"You say you love him. Love," repeated Edmé in a tone of deep disdain. "You dare to call that love which would destroy its object? Such as you are not capable of love."
"If it were not that you loved him, I would let them cut me into pieces for his sake," retorted La Liberté fiercely.