“You are master here, father; you can do as you choose. But I--I owe it
to myself and to the sacred memory of my mother, to protest by all the
means in my power; and I shall protest.”
The count stammered and stared. The blood rose to his head. He cried
out,--
“At last I know you, Henrietta, and I understand you. _I_ was not
mistaken. It was you who sent M. Daniel Champcey to Miss Brandon, to
insult her at her own house.”
“Sir!” interrupted M. Daniel in a threatening tone.
But the count could not be restrained; and, with his eyes almost
starting from their sockets, he continued,--
“Yes, I read your innermost heart, Henrietta. You are afraid of losing a
part of your inheritance.”