“You are not telling me the truth. This is the first time you have played me false, Sophia.” She bit her lips, and turned slightly pale. “My dear Cesare, do not ask so many questions. Do as I tell you, as you have always done hitherto. You have never found it a bad policy, have you? Very well, continue as before.” “No!” This refusal rang out sharp as a lash. “Ah! Might I be permitted to know the reasons influencing you?” “They are the same as yours. You will not come with me on account of this young Marcel Baradier. But it is on that very account that I am bent on your accompanying me.” “Can you be jealous?” “I am.” “That is something quite novel; and I must confess I am greatly surprised!” “It is diversity of sensations which gives a charm to life!” “Then you think—” “That this fair-complexioned young fellow has pleased you more than was agreed upon in our programme. Now, though I was disposed to allow you to practice your wiles on him, in the interests of business, I no longer feel inclined to permit you to flirt with him for art’s sake. The play is over, let us drop the curtain without continuing the love scene in the green-room.” “You are a very practical lover, Cesare.” “Did you not know that before?” “I have been very generous to you.” “Many thanks.” “And now I intend to act as I please, and to-day I cannot obey you.” They looked at one another like two wrestlers about to come to close quarters. Cesare’s eyes sparkled with anger, while Sophia stood there calm, with lowered eyelids, as though unwilling to meet his look. The Italian, with an effort, controlled himself, and speaking with affected gaiety, said— “Come, cara, let us not quarrel. We have every possible reason to be indulgent with one another; have we not been acquainted so long? Tell me what you have resolved on. I will do all I can to further your wishes. Is it a week’s liberty you want? When that length of time has elapsed will you promise to come to Venice? _Mon Dieu_! We may well be complaisant with one another. I will imagine I am nothing more than the brother of Madame Vignola, and will bear you no ill-feeling; that I promise. Will that satisfy you?” She replied with a sigh— “I do not know.” “But I must know.” “How can you be so stupid, Cesare, as to speak to the Baroness Grodsko as you would to any other woman? One would think you had forgotten what she is when some fancy takes possession of her. My poor friend, I am sorry for you; Lichtenbach’s company must have spoiled you. You must stop seeing him; he has turned you into a mere bourgeois!” “You are jesting with me?” “No!” “You refuse to promise to come and rejoin me?” “When I left Zypiatine, was he ever a source of annoyance to me?” “Then you confess you wish to leave me?” exclaimed the Italian, pale with anger. “You will know later, my friend. At present I have not the slightest wish to see you again.”