George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. “You clear out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!” The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. “Come now, you--you can talk to me a little more politely, eh?” “Will you go?” shouted George, completely beside himself. “Will you go, or must I go out and look for a policeman?” “A policeman!” demanded the woman. “For what?” “To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief.” “A thief? I? What do you mean?” “I mean that you are demanding money which doesn’t belong to you.” “More than that,” broke in Madame Dupont, “you are destroying that poor little baby! You are a wicked woman!” “I will put you out myself!” shouted George, and seized her by the arm again. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” retorted the nurse. “Then you really want me to tell you why I am going away?” “Yes, tell me!” cried he. His mother added, “Yes, yes!” She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried loudly, “Very well! I’m going away because I don’t want to catch a filthy disease here!” “HUSH!” cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched as if she would choke her. “Be silent!” cried George, wild with terror. But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, “Oh, you need not be troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world knows it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They heard every word your doctor said!” “Shut up!” screamed George. Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. “Hold your tongue!” she hissed. But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, “Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat--that you will never be able to raise it--that it’s rotten because it’s father has a filthy disease he got from a woman of the street!” She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall forward upon the floor, convulsed. “My God!” cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, of the most profound terror. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, like a maniac. “Don’t touch me!” CHAPTER V