Louise resumed:– I asked M. Ferrand by what means I could conceal my shame. Interrupting me with indignation, and a feigned surprise, he pretended not to understand me; he asked me if I were mad; frightened, I cried, ‘But, my God, what do you wish to become of me now? If you have no pity on me, have at least some pity on your child!’ ‘What a horror!’ cried he, raising his hands toward heaven. ‘How, wretch! You have the audacity to accuse me of being corrupt enough to descend to a girl of your class! you have effrontery enough to accuse me!–I, who have a hundred times repeated before the most respectable witnesses that you would be ruined, vile wanton. Leave my house this moment–I thrust you from my door.