"Well, out with it then, don't keep me waiting all night!"
He leaned against a console, his overcoat unbuttoned and thrown back, his black felt hat pulled down over his eyes, one hand thrust in a pocket, the other brandishing his Tuscan cigar, the villainous fumes of which filled the air.
"What are you going to do about Carolina?" she asked without preamble.
"Carolina?" he said, "why should I do anything? What is Carolina to me? You have been sitting up all this time to ask me a fool's question like that? You should go to bed, your head is tired, ti gira ta testa!"
"Carolina," she returned steadily, "has good cause for complaint against you."
He tapped his forehead with his forefinger.
"You are mad, mia cara," he said with a short laugh, but she could see the uneasy expression of his eyes.
"Have done with this fooling," said Ragna scornfully, "will you deny that you have made Carolina your mistress? You had better not, you see I know all."
He bent forward, an ugly look on his face.
"You lie! You spy on me and imagine things."