Miss Susan was thunderstruck. She was driven into silence, paralyzed by this intimation. She looked at the old shopkeeper with a dumb strain of terror and appeal in her face, which moved him, though he did not understand. “Mon Dieu! Madame,” he cried; “can I help it? it is not I; I am without power!” “But she shall not stay--I cannot have her; I will not have her!” cried Miss Susan, in her dismay. M. Guillaume said nothing, but he beckoned his step-daughter from the other end of the room. “Speak for thyself,” he said. “Thou art not wanted here, nor thy child either. It would be better to return with me.” Giovanna looked Miss Susan fall in the eyes, with an audacious smile. “Madame Suzanne will not send me away,” she said; “I am sure she will not send me away.” Miss Susan felt herself caught in the toils. She looked from one to another with despairing eyes. She might appeal to the old man, but she knew it was hopeless to appeal to the young woman, who stood over her with determination in every line of her face, and conscious power glancing from her eyes. She subdued herself by an incalculable effort. “I thought,” she said, faltering, “that it would be happier for you to go back to your home--that to be near your friends would please you. It may be comfortable enough here, but you would miss the--society of your friends--” “My mother-in-law?” said Giovanna, with a laugh. “Madame is too good to think of me. Yes, it is dull, I know; but for the child I overlook that. I will stay till M. Herbert comes. The bon papa is fond of the child, but he loves his rente, and will leave us when we are penniless. I will stay till M. Herbert returns, who must govern everything. Madame Suzanne will not contradict me, otherwise I shall have no choice. I shall be forced to go to M. Herbert to tell him all.” Miss Susan sat still and listened. She had to keep silence, though her heart beat so that it seemed to be escaping out of her sober breast, and the blood filled her veins to bursting. Heaven help her! here was her punishment. Fiery passion blazed in her, but she durst not betray it; and to keep it down--to keep it silent--was all she was able to do. She answered, faltering,-- “You are mistaken; you are mistaken. Herbert will do nothing. Besides, some one could write and tell you what he says.” “Pardon! but I move not; I leave not,” said Giovanna. She enjoyed the triumph. “I am a mother,” she said; “Madame Suzanne knows; and mothers sacrifice everything for the good of their children--everything. I am able for the sacrifice,” she said, looking down upon Miss Susan with a gleam almost of laughter--of fun, humor, and malicious amusement in her eyes. To reason with this creature was like dashing one’s self against a stone wall. She was impregnable in her resolution. Miss Susan, feeling the blow go to her heart, pushed her chair back into the corner, and hid herself, as it were. It was a dark corner, where her face was in comparative darkness.