A few minutes ago she had been still a prisoner, suffering tortures at having heard that Marius was to return that day, and that, willy-nilly, she must wed him now.

And now she was free it seemed: her champion was returned in power, and he stood bidding her decide the fate of her late oppressors.
Madame's face was ashen.

She judged the girl by her own self; she had no knowledge of any such infinite sweetness as that of this child's nature, a sweetness that could do no hurt to any.

Death was what the Marquise expected, since she knew that death would she herself have pronounced had the positions been reversed.

But-- "Let her go in peace, monsieur," she heard mademoiselle say, and she could not believe but that she was being mocked.