"Whether you are mad or not, you shall not stand there accusing me of
monstrous crimes!" she cried, moving a step towards Veronica, and
raising her hand with a menacing gesture.
"Shall not?" repeated Veronica, proudly, and instead of retreating she
advanced calmly to meet her aunt.
"Would you not rather that I accused you here, and proved you guilty and
let you go free, than that I should do as much in a court of justice?
You know what the end of that would be--penal servitude for you
both--and unless--" she paused, for she was growing hot and she wished
to speak with coolness.
"Unless?" Matilde uttered the one word scornfully, still facing her.
"Unless you will confess the truth, here, before I leave the house, I
will do what I can to have you both convicted," said Veronica. "That is
your only chance. That or the galleys. Choose. You are thieves and
murderers. Choose."
She spoke like a man to those who would have murdered her and had
failed, but who had robbed her with impunity for years. Gregorio
Macomer's face was all distorted. All at once his maniac laugh broke
out. But it stopped suddenly and unexpectedly, and it changed to another
sort of laughter--low and not unpleasant to hear, but a little vacant.
Matilde turned her head slowly and gazed at him. He was bending now and
resting his elbows on the head of the couch, instead of his hands, and
he held his hands themselves opposite to each other, crooking first one
finger and then another, and making one finger bow to the other, as
children sometimes do, and laughing vacantly to himself, with a queer
little chuckle of enjoyment.
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