“Do you think that I sorrow for Madame Danglars? Undeceive yourself again; either I am greatly mistaken, or she has provided against the catastrophe which threatens you, and, which will pass over without affecting her. She has taken care for herself⁠—at least I hope so⁠—for her attention has not been diverted from her projects by watching over me. She has fostered my independence by professedly indulging my love for liberty. Oh, no, sir; from my childhood I have seen too much, and understood too much, of what has passed around me, for misfortune to have an undue power over me. From my earliest recollections, I have been beloved by no one⁠—so much the worse; that has naturally led me to love no one⁠—so much the better⁠—now you have my profession of faith.”

“Then,” said Danglars, pale with anger, which was not at all due to offended paternal love⁠—“then, mademoiselle, you persist in your determination to accelerate my ruin?”

“Your ruin? I accelerate your ruin? What do you mean? I do not understand you.”