"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. “No, I am alone,” she answered. He filled her glass with champagne.
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