Through the awful silence came the sound of sobs and
a plaintive voice crying:
"Gregorio, come back, leave her; I love you."
"Is Madam Marx outside?" hissed Xantippe.
"Yes."
"Then go to her. I tell you I hate you." She pointed to the half-filled
box--"I was going to leave here to-night. I will never return to you."
"You were going with the Englishman?"
"He is a man."
Gregorio paused a moment, then in a suppressed voice, half choking at
the words, said:
"Our son--do you know what has happened to him? You shall not leave me."
"I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil
influence. Let me pass." Xantippe moved toward the door, but Gregorio
seized her by the throat.
"You are glad our son is killed; you helped Amos to kill him."
Rage and despair impelled him. Laughing brutally, he struck her on the
breast, and, as he tottered, sent his knife deep into her heart. For a
few seconds he stood over her exulting, and then opened the door. Madam
Marx, white with fear, rushed into the room. Seeing the murdered woman,
a look of triumph came into her eyes.
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