She had reached the final scene of the drama she had come
to enact, and her mind was going over and over the phases of love and
anger which had so powerfully stirred her during the ten days which
had now elapsed since her first meeting with the marquis. A man's step
suddenly sounded in the adjoining room and she trembled; the door
opened, she turned quickly and saw Corentin.
"You little cheat!" said the police-agent, "when will you stop
deceiving? Ah, Marie, Marie, you are playing a dangerous game by not
taking me into your confidence. Why do you play such tricks without
consulting me? If the marquis escapes his fate--"
"It won't be your fault, will it?" she replied, sarcastically.
"Monsieur," she continued, in a grave voice, "by what right do you
come into my house?"
"Your house?" he exclaimed.
"You remind me," she answered, coldly, "that I have no home. Perhaps
you chose this house deliberately for the purpose of committing
murder. I shall leave it. I would live in a desert to get away from--"
"Spies, say the word," interrupted Corentin. "But this house is
neither yours nor mine, it belongs to the government; and as for
leaving it you will do nothing of the kind," he added, giving her a
diabolical look.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil rose indignantly, made a few steps to leave
the room, but stopped short suddenly as Corentin raised the curtain of
the window and beckoned her, with a smile, to come to him.
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