answer you, since Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire has answered you; but I
detain you no longer."

Strictly a weasel has no business with the temper of a tiger, but this
one had, and the long vindictiveness of a Corsican. "Ah! my little lady,
you turn me out of the house, do you?" cried he, grinding his teeth.

"Turn him out of the house? what a phrase! where has this man lived?"

"A man!" snarled Perrin, "whom none ever yet insulted without repenting
it, and repenting in vain. You are under obligations to me, and you
think to turn me out! You are at my mercy, and you think I will let you
turn me to your door! In less than a mouth I will stand here, and say to
you, Beaurepaire is mine. Begone from it!"

When he uttered these terrible words, each of which was like a
sword-stroke to the baroness, the old lady, whose courage was not
equal to her strength, shrank over the side of her arm-chair, and cried
piteously--"He threatens me! he threatens me! I am frightened;" and put
up her trembling hands, for the notary's eloquence, being accompanied
with abundance of gesture, bordered upon physical violence. His
brutality received an unexpected check. Imagine that a sparrow-hawk had
seized a trembling pigeon, and that a royal falcon swooped, and with one
lightning-like stroke of body and wing, buffeted him away, and sent him
gaping and glaring and grasping at pigeonless air with his claws. So
swift and majestic, Josephine de Beaurepaire came from her chair with
one gesture of her body between her mother and the notary, who was
advancing with arms folded in a brutal, menacing way--not the Josephine
we have seen her, the calm languid beauty, but the demoiselle de
Beaurepaire--her great heart on fire--her blood up--not her own only,