"By Jove! Refused your noble offer?"
Angelescu's face was livid, a muscle worked in his thin cheeks, his eyes looked like a lion's about to spring; his hand crept to his side where the hilt of his sabre should have been, but he was not in uniform; his short hair bristled on his head; with a supreme effort he held himself in check. His impulse was to throw himself on the other and silence his sarcastic tongue forever, but his military discipline stood him in good stead; the man before him was his Prince and therefore inviolable. Mirko watched him curiously, as though measuring the strength of his endurance. When he was able to regain control of his voice it was tense and hard; he jerked out his sentences as though each one represented a struggle.
"I have known you, Prince, ever since you were a baby, I have played with you, worked with you, served you faithfully and well. I knew you to be wild, reckless, selfish—but I never thought you would sink to this; to ruin an innocent young girl and then turn it into a jest. I am older than you, at your father's wish I have been brought up like a brother to you. I have stood by you through thick and thin, no man has had a more loyal friend and servant than I have been to you—but this is the end. You are no longer my Prince, I shall wear your uniform no longer. To-night we stand here, not as Prince and subject, but as man to man."
The Prince sat up.
"Nonsense, Otto! Do you mean to say that after all these years, you would desert me on account of a girl?"
"I shall send in my papers to-morrow," said Otto, and looking the Prince in the eyes he added, "if I were wearing my sabre now, I should break it in your presence—you are not worthy of the service of a true blade!" His hands made the gesture of snapping the blade over his knee; he turned on his heel.
Mirko sprang from the couch, upsetting the little table standing by it, with its box of cigarettes, decanter and glass. The bottle crashed to the floor and a sticky stream of liqueur crept over the carpet.
"Otto!" he cried. The other turned stiffly.
"Otto, you are right, I don't deserve a friend like you,—I have behaved like a blackguard. You may believe me or not,—I didn't mean to do the girl any harm. She—she went to my head, she maddened me! Hang it all! Why didn't she keep me at arm's length?"
"She trusted you," said Angelescu accusingly.