He had hardly spoken, indeed he had hardly turned his white and wrathful face towards me, when I understood precisely what had happened. Of course an absolute certainty was out of the question, but I felt the next thing to it; and what with the exulting thought that it was possible and the fear that it might not be true, I was so taken aback that I had no answer for this unusual greeting. “You blackguard!” Brunow stammered, his stick quivering in his hand. “Come, come,” I answered, rising, and keeping a careful eye on him, for he looked as if he were fit for any sort of mischief, “this is curious language. Will you be good enough to tell me how you justify it?” “You know well enough how I justify it!” cried Brunow. “Your dirty under-plot has succeeded. You have that for your comfort, but you may take this to flavor it. I took you for an honest man until a quarter of an hour ago, and now I know that you are as dirty and as despicable a hypocrite and backbiter as any in the world!” “That is a lie, my dear Brunow, whoever says it!” I responded. “You will be good enough to tell me at once on what grounds you bring such a charge against me.” “Oh,” cried Brunow, “I'm not going to debase myself with quarrelling with a man like you! You have my opinion of you, and you know how you have earned it. That's enough for me. Good-afternoon.” He turned, but I was at the door before him. “That may be enough for you, my dear Brunow, but it isn't enough for me. You don't leave this room with my good-will until you have given me some justification for your conduct.” “I'll give you none!” he cried. “You're a liar and a hypocrite, and I've done with you forever! That ought to be enough for you! Stand by and let me go, or--” he raised his stick with a threatening gesture, but at that I could afford to smile. I knew Brunow a great deal too well to think him likely to assault me after having put me on my guard by a threat. “I wonder,” he said, with his lips quivering and his teeth tight clinched behind them--“I wonder that I don't thrash you within an inch of your life.” “I wouldn't waste much wonder on that question if I were you, Brunow,” I answered. “You will be able to find an easy explanation. Tell me on what grounds you come to me with these angry accusations.” “You pretend you don't know?” he sneered. “You can't guess, you soul of honor!” “I pretend nothing,” I told him; “but no man uses such language to me without justifying it. A gentleman having under any fancied sense of wrong used such language will hasten to find reasons for it.” “You may keep me here,” said Brunow, throwing himself savagely into an arm-chair. “I won't bluster with you, but I decline to explain or justify a word I've said, and you can take what course you please.” “Very well,” I answered, turning the key in the lock and then putting it in my pocket, “we shall both have an opportunity of exercising the great gift of patience.”