A drop of blood
appeared on the girl's left temple, near her eyelid.
But she sprang forward, flushed and maddened by this correction, with her
hand raised and ready to strike back. "Take care, mother! I swear I'd
beat you like a gipsy! And now just put this into your head: I mean to
marry Gerard, and I will; and I'll take him from you, even if I have to
raise a scandal, should you refuse to give him to me with good grace."
Eve, after her one act of angry vigour, had sunk into an armchair,
overcome, distracted. And all the horror of quarrels, which sprang from
her egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, was
returning to her. But Camille, still threatening, still unsatiated,
showed her heart as it really was, her stern, black, unforgiving heart,
intoxicated with cruelty. There came a moment of supreme silence, while
Duvillard's gay voice again rang out in the adjoining room.
The mother was gently weeping, when Hyacinthe, coming upstairs at a run,
swept into the little /salon/. He looked at the two women, and made a
gesture of indulgent contempt. "Ah! you're no doubt satisfied now! But
what did I tell you? It would have been much better for you to have come
downstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you. It's all idiotic. I've
come to fetch you."
Eve and Camille would not yet have followed him, perhaps, if Duvillard
and Fonsegue had not at that moment come out of the former's room.
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