the man, he belongs to _me_. The whole earth could not tear him from my
grasp. Go, go! I forgive you. I see plainly that the girl is a Marana.
You, your religion, your virtue, were too weak to fight against my
blood."

She gave a dreadful sigh, turning her dry eyes on them. She had lost
all, but she knew how to suffer,--a true courtesan.

The door opened. The Marana forgot all else, and Perez, making a sign
to his wife, remained at his post. With his old invincible Spanish
honor he was determined to share the vengeance of the betrayed mother.
Juana, all in white, and softly lighted by the wax candles, was
standing calmly in the centre of her chamber.

"What do you want with me?" she said.

The Marana could not repress a passing shudder.

"Perez," she asked, "has this room another issue?"

Perez made a negative gesture; confiding in that gesture, the mother
entered the room.

"Juana," she said, "I am your mother, your judge; you have placed
yourself in the only situation in which I could reveal myself to you.
You have come down to me, you, whom I thought in heaven. Ah! you have
fallen low indeed. You have a lover in this room."

"Madame, there is and can be no one but my husband," answered the
girl. "I am the Marquise de Montefiore."