"I dare because what I say is true."
"True!" his hands appealed to Heaven. "It is as false as Hell, like yourself! How much do you suppose I believed of that cock-and-bull story you told me, about your being the light-of-love of a prince? A prince!—a gondolier perhaps, or a facchino di piazza!"
"Hush," she said, as pale as death, "the servants will overhear you."
"The servants! What do I care for the servants? Let them hear, I have nothing to conceal from them!"
The taunt was like a blow in the face; Ragna stiffened under it and turned cold.
"You forget, Signor Valentini, that in insulting me, you insult yourself, for when all is said and done, I am the wife you have chosen. Policy at least should dictate another course of conduct towards me,—everything that lowers me in the eyes of the world lowers you, too."
His answer was to seize a large Contagalli vase, standing on a console between the windows and smash it on the tiled floor, then he turned and rushed from the room. Ragna stood looking after him a scornful smile creeping over her frozen face. In that moment she had seen revealed the innermost hideous recesses of the man's soul, the man who was her husband, the father of Beppino. In the silence there rose to her ears the reverberating bang of the portone, and the angry beat of his footsteps on the stone pavement outside.
After a few days of sullen silence, he appeared before her one evening before dinner, a little box in his hand. It was never his way to offer an apology, but the desire for peace which stood to him for remorse, frequently took the form of material reparation. Never would he, in any circumstances, have admitted himself in the wrong. He opened the box, displaying a ruby ring set with diamonds, saying:
"You must admit that I am a generous husband, my dear!"
"Thank you," said Ragna, without looking up, "I do not care for it."