The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

“Am I to understand, Sir Percival, that your wife’s room is a prison, and that your housemaid is the gaoler who keeps it?” I asked. “Yes, that is what you are to understand,” he answered. “Take care my gaoler hasn’t got double duty to do⁠—take care your room is not a prison too.” “Take you care how you treat your wife, and how you threaten me ,” I broke out in the heat of my anger. “There are laws in England to protect women from cruelty and outrage. If you hurt a hair of Laura’s head, if you dare to interfere with my freedom, come what may, to those laws I will appeal.” Instead of answering me he turned round to the Count. “What did I tell you?” he asked. “What do you say now?” “What I said before,” replied the Count⁠—“No.” Even in the vehemence of my anger I felt his calm, cold, grey eyes on my face. They turned away from me as soon as he had spoken, and looked significantly at his wife. Madame Fosco immediately moved close to my side, and in that position addressed Sir Percival before either of us could speak again. “Favour me with your attention for one moment,” she said, in her clear icily-suppressed tones. “I have to thank you, Sir Percival, for your hospitality, and to decline taking advantage of it any longer. I remain in no house in which ladies are treated as your wife and Miss Halcombe have been treated here today!”