"I jest not, sir, with my honour and happiness," retorted Fatello, with a rude fierceness that brought a flush to the baron's cheek--a flame of anger which the next moment, however, dispelled. "Then, my dear M. Fatello," said Steinfeld, "since, instead of a bad jest, you mean sober earnest, I can only say you are grossly misinformed, and that your suspicions are as injurious to Madame Fatello, as your manner of expressing them is insulting to myself." "I have no suspicions," replied Fatello, "but a certainty." "Impossible!" said the baron. "Name my accuser. He shall account for the base calumny." "He desires no better," replied Fatello, sternly. "I myself accuse you. No slanderous tongues, but my own ears, are evidence against you. And yourself, sir, shall confess what you now so stubbornly deny. You were at last night's masquerade." "I was so." "In hussar uniform--crimson vest and white pelisse." Steinfeld bowed assent. "The uniform of the regiment to which I formerly belonged." "A black domino was on your arm." "_Ma foi!_" cried the baron, with a laugh that sounded rather forced, "if you demand an account of all the masks I walked and danced with, I shall hardly be able to satisfy you. Dominoes there were, doubtless; and, of all colours, black amongst the rest." "You equivocate, sir," said Fatello, angrily. "I will aid your memory. The domino I mean was your companion early in the night. The domino I mean danced once with you (a waltz), and afterwards walked with you through the rooms, in deep conversation. The domino I mean stood with you for more than ten minutes beside the fountain in the conservatory. The domino I mean was my wife; and you, Baron Steinfeld, are a villain!"