"It is you who lie, Egidio," said Ragna coldly. She was astonished at her own coolness; passion had deserted her, she sat, calm and critical, in the seat of judgment.
With a roar he came and stood over her.
"Take that back! How dare you! How dare you!"
"I am not deaf," said Ragna, "there is no occasion to shout. Please lower your voice and try to behave like a gentleman for once. Go and sit down," she continued without a quiver, "I have not finished yet and I can't speak if you are towering over my chair. And please make up your mind either to speak first and say your say, or else wait until I have done, but don't interrupt me."
Her calmness, the low even tones of her voice imposed on him; raging at her and at himself, he yet obeyed, albeit almost unconsciously, and dropped on a chair under his own portrait.
"It is quite useless to deny or to bluster," said Ragna, "I know all, I am sorry for Carolina, and I—"
"So that slut has been to you with her tale," he interrupted, "and you believe her in preference to your husband. The lying hussy—! I'll teach her—"
"Egidio," said the cold accusing voice, "she did not lie, she is a good girl. With all due regard, the one liar in the case is—"
"You dare call me a liar!" he roared, rising from his seat. She waived him back again. "When I was a little boy in school, Cardinal Ferri used to call me up and say—"
"Yes, yes," she said wearily, "that is an old story, I have heard it many times. The good Cardinal was not infallible, or else you have changed since—" He was choking with inarticulate rage; she continued,