"Now that you need me; now that you want me to be a party to your treacherous designs against my uncle.

Oh, you can say 'Cecile' and 'dear Cecile' instead of your everlasting 'Citoyenne'.
"It seems I am doomed to be always misunderstood by you," he laughed, and at the sound she started as if he had struck her.
Had she but looked in his eyes she had seen no laughter there; she might have realised that murder rather than mirth was in his soul--for, at all costs, he was determined to hold the paper he had been at such pains to get.
"I understand you well enough," she cried hotly, her cheeks flaming red of a sudden.

"I understand you, you thief, you trickster.

Do you think that I heard nothing of what passed this morning between my uncle and you?
Do you think I do not know whose name you have written on that paper?
Answer me," she commanded him.
"Since you know so much, what need for any questions ?" quoth he coolly, transferring the coveted paper to his pocket as he spoke.

"And since we are so far agreed that I am not contradicting anything you say--nor, indeed, intend to--perhaps you will see the convenience of ending an interview that promises to be fruitless.