“Whose fault is it? Upon my word, I believe you were mad, for a moment. You brave me, all for the sake of this young fop! Do you know I am going to kill him?” “I forbid you!” said Sophia, emphatically. “I shall be delighted to obey you,” he said gallantly. “There is this difference between us, that I am dominated by respectful attentions towards you, and treat you like a sovereign, whilst you, by your language and your attitude, wish to reduce me to the rank of a lackey! Is that just?” She made no reply. He walked to and fro for a short time, then drawing nearer said— “Never have I seen you in such a passion before. What in the world can this young fellow have taught you? For the future I shall not be able to trust you at all, though hitherto I have had the most complete confidence in you! Is it possible that just now you thought of blowing out my brains? Afterwards, what would you have done with my body? Your Marcel would have arrived. He would have found the floor stained with blood, and my corpse lying in the middle of the salon! How would you have explained the matter to him? You see, Sophia, it was a fit of madness which came over you. And all for what? Place in the balance these love-dreams of yours, weigh them against the immense interests in which you have a part, and decide whether the former weigh down the latter? Really, women must at times be mad for one like yourself to give way to such acts of extravagance!” He gave her a side-long glance as he spoke, but the expression on her face did not appear to satisfy him, so he continued— “We neither have nor can have strength, unless we support one another. I rely on your beauty, and you ought to be proud of my skill and courage. Wherever we pass, it is your _rôle_ to charm and please, and mine to defend you. Have I ever failed in my duty? When Colonel de Bredmann, last year in Vienna, spoke of you in a manner you considered derogatory, did I hesitate to challenge him the following day, and drive six inches of cold steel through his throat in the Prater? I must confess that you, with charming generosity, enabled me to support the run of ill-luck which always overtook me at the club. Mutual exchange—you, of money; and myself, of respect. Meanwhile, we carried on our affairs. And with what success? Do you remember? Was it not better than quarrelling? Come, Sophia, don’t look so gloomy; I know your feelings are bitter, but don’t let them be more bitter than my own. Diavolo! Wake up and speak. Give me an answer.” Appearing to shake off the feeling of numbness which had come over her, she once more looked at her reddened fingers, and said, with a strange smile— “Very well! Order, since it is you who are the master!” With displeased air, he replied—