“Give me that letter, madam!”

Clarissa had fled when she saw her treachery discovered.

“This letter,” replied the countess coldly, “I shall hand to your father, madam, as it is my duty to do.”

“Ah, take care, madam!” broke in the poor girl with a threatening gesture; “take care!  My patience has its limits.”

Her attitude and her accent were so terrible, that the countess thought it prudent to put a table between herself and her victim.  But suddenly a great revolution had taken place in Henrietta’s heart.  She said roughly,—­

“Look here, madam, let us have an explanation while we are alone.  What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing, I assure you.”

“Nothing?  Who is it, then, that has meanly slandered me, has robbed me of my father’s affection, surrounds me with spies, and overwhelms me with insults?  Who forces me to lead this wretched life to which I am condemned?”

The countess showed in her features how deeply she was reflecting.  She was evidently calculating the effect of a new plan.

“You will have it so,” she replied resolutely.  “Very well, then, I will be frank with you.  Yes, I am bent on ruining you.  Why?  You know it as well as I do.  I will ask you, in my turn, who is it that has done every thing that could possibly be done to prevent my marriage?  Who has endeavored to crush me?  Who would like to drive me from this house like an infamous person?  Is it not you, always you?  Yes, you are right.  I hate you; I hate you unto death, and I avenge myself!”

“Madam!”

“Wait!  What had I done to you before my marriage?  Nothing.  You did not even know me by name.  They came and told you atrocious stories invented by my enemies, and you believed them.  Your father told you, ’They are wicked libels.’  What did you answer?  That ’those only are libelled who deserve it.’  I wanted to prove to you that it is not so.  You are the purest and chastest of girls whom I know; are you not?  Very well.  I defy you to find a single person around you who does not believe that you have had lovers.”

Extreme situations have this peculiarity, that the principal actors may be agitated by the most furious passions, and still outwardly preserve the greatest calmness.  Thus these two women, who were burning with mortal hatred, spoke with an almost calm voice.

“And you think, madam,” resumed Henrietta, “that sufferings like mine can be long continued?”

“They will be continued till it pleases me to make an end to them.”

“Or till I come of age.”

The countess made a great effort to conceal her surprise.

“Oh!” she said to herself.  “Oh, oh!”

“Or,” continued the young girl, “till he returns whom you have taken from me, my betrothed, M. Daniel Champcey.”

“Stop, madam.  You are mistaken.  It was not I who sent Daniel away.”

Daniel! the countess said so; said familiarly, Daniel!  Had she any right to do so?  How?  Whence this extraordinary impudence?