Then Antony turned into the parlor, and leaving open the door, waited for his wife’s approach. Very soon a maid ran down with her carriage wraps, and then there was a light step, with a vague waft of perfume, and Antony went to the foot of the staircase. Rose was descending with her mask in her hand. Her fair auburn hair was loose and crowned with poppies. Her short and scanty dress was of vivid scarlet and black, her hose were of scarlet silk, her slippers of black satin, and her arms covered to above the elbows with black gloves. She was, as she mockingly said, “a diablesse in scarlet and black.”
Antony looked at her, and his face burned with shame; then with a grasp she could not resist, he led her into the parlor, turned the key in the door, and 245 put it in his pocket. At that, she found it possible to speak to her husband.
“Let me out, sir!” she cried, passionately. “How dare you lock me in any room?” And she was wickedly beautiful as she imperiously ordered her own release. Sensitive to her influence, and trembling under her power, Antony defied it.
“You shall not leave this house to-night,” he answered. “You shall never leave it in such a shameless garb. You outrage yourself and all who love you by it.”
“As I intend to remain unknown, the precious self-respect of anybody that loves me will not be hurt. As for myself, it makes no matter. Give me the key, sir.”
“I will not.”
“Then I shall go out by the window.”
“You will do nothing of the kind. I am going to remain here with you. You will not surely compel me to use force.”
“You are brutal enough to use force.”
“Rose, I must save you from yourself. Some day you will thank me for it.”