Lacheneur's face was whiter than his linen, and a sinister light
glittered in his eye.

"I was there," said he, pointing to the door, "and--I heard all."

"Father!"

"What! would you try to defend her after she came here to crush you with
her insolent good fortune--after she overwhelmed you with her ironical
pity and with her scorn? I tell you they are all like this--these girls,
whose heads have been turned by flattery, and who believe that in
their veins flows a different blood from ours. But patience! The day of
reckoning is near at hand!"

Those whom he threatened would have shuddered had they seen him at that
moment, so terrible was the rage revealed by his accent, so formidable
did he appear.

"And you, my beloved daughter, my poor Marie-Anne, you did not
understand the insults she heaped upon you. You are wondering why she
should have treated you with such disdain. Ah, well! I will tell you:
she imagines that the Marquis de Sairmeuse is your lover."

Marie-Anne tottered beneath the terrible blow, and a nervous spasm shook
her from head to foot.

"Can this be possible?" she exclaimed. "Great God! what shame! what
humiliation!"

"And why should this astonish you?" said Lacheneur, coldly. "Have you