im
reverted to that inward assertion that he might 'cut her to pieces' if
he liked. He repeated his question in the pathetic strain. 'Will you
do this now,--to save us all from ruin?' But his eyes still threatened
her.

'No;' she said, looking up into his face as though watching for the
personal attack which would be made upon her; 'no, I won't.'

'Marie!' exclaimed Madame Melmotte.

She glanced round for a moment at her pseudo-mother with contempt.
'No;' she said. 'I don't think I ought,--and I won't.'

'You won't!' shouted Melmotte. She merely shook her head. 'Do you mean
that you, my own child, will attempt to rob your father just at the
moment you can destroy him by your wickedness?' She shook her head but
said no other word.

'Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet.'

'Let not Medea with unnatural rage
Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage.'

Nor will I attempt to harrow my readers by a close description of the
scene which followed. Poor Marie. That cutting her up into pieces was
commenced after a most savage fashion. Marie crouching down hardly
uttered a sound. But Madame Melmotte frightened beyond endurance
screamed at the top of her voice,--'Ah, Melmotte, tu la tueras!' And
then she tried to drag him from his prey. 'Will you sign them now?'
said Melmotte, panting. At that moment Croll, frightened by the
screams, burst into the room. It was perhaps not the first time that
he had interfered to save Melmotte from the effects of his own wrath.

'Oh, Mr Melmotte, vat is de matter?' asked the clerk. Melmotte was out
of breath and could hardly tell his story. Marie gradually recovered
herself; and crouched, cowering, in the corner of a sofa, by no means
vanquished in spirit, but with a feeling that the very life had been
crushed out of her body. Madame Melmotte was standing weeping
copiously, with her handkerchief up to her eyes. 'Will you sign the
papers?' Melmotte demanded. Marie, lying as she was, all in a heap,
merely shook her head. 'Pig!' said Melmotte,--'wicked, ungrateful
pig.'

'Ah, Ma'am-moiselle,' said Croll, 'you should oblige your fader.'

'Wretched, wicked girl' said Melmotte, collecting the papers together.
Then he left the room, and followed by Croll descended to the study,
whence the Longestaffes and Mr Bideawhile had long since taken their
departure.

Madame Melmotte came and stood over the girl, but for some minutes
spoke never a word. Marie lay on the sofa, all in