"Hush! call me Brigida."
"Hush! call me Virginie."
These two exclamations were uttered at the same moment, and then
the two women scrutinized each other in silence. The swarthy
cheeks of the Italian turned to a dull yellow, and the voice of
the Frenchwoman trembled a little when she spoke again.
"How, in the name of Heaven, have you dropped down in the world
as low as this?" she asked. "I thought you were provided for
when--"
"Silence!" interrupted Brigida. "You see I was not provided for.
I have had my misfortunes; and you are the last woman alive who
ought to refer to them."
"Do you think I have not had my misfortunes, too, since we met?"
(Brigida's face brightened maliciously at those words.) "You have
had your revenge," continued Mademoiselle Virginie, coldly,
turning away to the table and taking up the scissors again.
Brigida followed her, threw one arm roughly round her neck, and
kissed her on the cheek. "Let us be friends again," she said. The
Frenchwoman laughed. "Tell me how I have had my revenge," pursued
the other, tightening her grasp. Mademoiselle Virginie signed to
Brigida to stoop, and whispered rapidly in her ear. The Italian
listened eagerly, with fierce, suspicious eyes fixed on the door.
When the whispering ceased, she loosened her hold, and, with a
sigh of relief, pushed back her heavy black hair from her
temples.
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