"What do you mean by all this?" Hardin's nerve returns. He must
not yield to mortal.
The woman who queened it over his home, extends a jewelled hand
with an envelop. "Explain this," she sharply cries.
The Judge reads it. It is the announcement of his double senatorial
and matrimonial campaign.
"Is there any foundation for that report?" Madame de Santos
deliberately asks.
"There is," briefly rejoins the lawyer. He muses a moment. What
devil is awakened in her now? This is no old-time pleading suppliant.
"Then you will not see Isabel until you have settled with me and
provided the funds promised before the death of the count."
"Ah!" sneers the old advocate; "I understand you NOW, madame. Blood
money!"
"Partly," remarks Madame de Santos. "I also insist upon your giving
up this marriage."
Hardin springs from his chair. Age has robbed him of none of his
cold defiance. He will crush her.
"You dare to dream of forcing me to marry you?" His eyes have the
glitter of steel.
"You need not give up the senate, but you must marry me, privately,
and give your own child a name. Then I will leave, with the funds
you will provide. You can separate from me afterward by the mere
lapse of time.
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