“I am my own mistress,” Salome continued. “I am twenty-three years of age, and no one has any right to exercise control over me or deprive me of my liberty. Will you let me go, Dr. Arnot?” “No, mademoiselle—I have given my word to madam—I must keep it. You may claim that you are of age, which doubtless is true, but—people who are—ah!—invalids are not always competent to care for themselves,” he pointedly concluded. “Monsieur Arnot,” Salome broke forth, a sudden thought striking her, “I am rich—I have a large fortune at my command. Do you know that if I should manage, by any stratagem, to escape from your insane asylum—that I could prosecute you—that you would have to suffer to the extent of the law for detaining me here? And I would do it—I would not spare you, I assure you. There are plenty of people in Paris who could prove that I am perfectly sane—there are even persons here who knew me before I came abroad from America, and I would spend thousands of francs to bring you to justice.” The doctor looked somewhat disturbed for a moment after this spirited threat, but his brow soon cleared, and he smiled placidly. “Madam alone is responsible,” he said. “I have her signature to the certificate resigning mademoiselle to my charge, and she would have to prosecute her own mother.” “Must I tell you again that she is not my mother?” cried Salome, flushing hotly. Then she added more calmly: “You say you have Mrs. Rochester’s signature to the certificate consigning me here, but has the document also the signature of some responsible physician, testifying to my insanity?” Dr. Arnot moved restlessly in his chair at this pertinent question; evidently it was not an agreeable one. “Mademoiselle is very curious,” he evasively remarked with a frown. Salome began to realize that no entreaty or threat would avail, and then it occurred to her that possibly bribery might succeed where all other arguments would fail. “Mrs. Rochester has agreed to pay you well, I presume, for detaining me here?” she remarked. “Patients are not usually treated free of charge in a retreat like this,” he returned. “Would you mind telling me the amount you are to receive?” Salome asked. Dr. Arnot sneered audibly at this question. “So that mademoiselle may have another point against me in law?” he retorted with a sarcastic laugh. “No, monsieur, I was not thinking of that,” she quietly replied; “but I imagined that I might perhaps outbid my enemy. I have told you that I am rich. See here! I have a letter of credit for five thousand dollars—twenty-five thousand francs of your money,” and she drew forth the envelope containing it. “I will give you four thousand of it, or twenty thousand francs, if you will unbar your doors and let me go free this hour.”