as your papa bids you,' said
Madame Melmotte.

'No!' said Melmotte. 'She does not care who is ruined, because we saved
her from that reprobate.'

'She will sign them now,' said Madame Melmotte.

'No;--I will not sign them,' said Marie. 'If I am to be married to Lord
Nidderdale as you all say, I am sure I ought to sign nothing without
telling him. And if the property was once made to be mine, I don't
think I ought to give it up again because papa says that he is going
to be ruined. I think that's a reason for not giving it up again.'

'It isn't yours to give. It's mine,' said Melmotte gnashing his teeth.

'Then you can do what you like with it without my signing,' said
Marie.

He paused a moment, and then laying his hand gently upon her shoulder,
he asked her yet once again. His voice was changed, and was very
hoarse. But he still tried to be gentle with her. 'Marie,' he said,
'will you do this to save your father from destruction?'

But she did not believe a word that he said to her. How could she
believe him? He had taught her to regard him as her natural enemy,
making her aware that it was his purpose to use her as a chattel for
his own advantage, and never allowing her for a moment to suppose that
aught that he did was to be done for her happiness. And now, almost in
a breath, he had told her that this money was wanted that it might be
settled on her and the man to whom she was to be married, and then
that it might be used to save him from instant ruin. She believed
neither one story nor the other. That she should have done as she was
desired in this matter can hardly be disputed. The father had used her
name because he thought that he could trust her. She was his daughter
and should not have betrayed his trust. But she had steeled herself to
obstinacy against him in all things. Even yet, after all that had
passed, although she had consented to marry Lord Nidderdale, though
she had been forced by what she had learned to despise Sir Felix
Carbury, there was present to her an idea that she might escape with
the man she really loved. But any such hope could depend only on the
possession of the money which she now claimed as her own. Melmotte had
endeavoured to throw a certain supplicatory pathos into the question
he had asked her; but, though he was in some degree successful with
his voice, his eyes and his mouth and his forehead still threatened
her. He was always threatening her. All her thoughts respecting h