She, at least, felt that there was anything but kindness in her heart now, and she desired nothing so much as to make some one suffer something of what she felt.

It was wicked, doubtless, as she admitted to herself.

It was bad and wrong and cruel, but it was not heartless.

A woman without heart would not have felt enough to resent having felt at all, and moreover would probably be perfectly well satisfied with the situation.
The expression of hardness deepened in the young girl's face as she sat there, silently thinking over all that was to come, and glancing from time to time at her mother's placid countenance.

It was really amazing to see how much the Marchesa could bear when she was actually roused to a sense of the necessity for action.