“Very well. Don't be long.” And Count Kamarowsky turned on his heel and left us.
I went rapidly on in front of Elise, who, humiliated by the falsehood she had told, hung her head in shame both for herself and for me; and I entered my sitting-room.
On the couch, smoking a cigarette, sat Prilukoff. He did not rise when I entered. He sat there smoking and looking at me with that curious crooked smile. A great fear clutched my heart.
“Donat,” I stammered, “why did you not let me know you had arrived?”
He made no answer; but he laughed loudly and coarsely, and my fear of him increased.
“Did you receive my letter? Are you cross with me?”
“Cross?” he shouted, leaping to his feet, his eyes glaring like those of a madman. “Cross? No, I am not cross.” I recoiled from him in terror, but he followed me, pushing his distorted face close to mine. “You ruin a man, you drive him to perdition, and then you inquire whether he is cross. You take an honorable man in your little talons, you turn and twist him round your fingers, you mold him and transform him and turn him into a coward, a rogue, and a thief; then you throw him aside like a dirty rag—and you ask him if he is cross! Ha, ha!” And he laughed in my face; he was ghastly to look at, livid in hue, with a swollen vein drawn like a cord across his forehead.
I burst into tears. “Why—why do you say that?” I sobbed.
“Why do I say that?” stormed Prilukoff. “Why? Because I had a wife and I betrayed her for you; I had two children and I forsook them for you; I had a career and I lost it for you; I was a man of honor and I have turned thief for you.”
“Oh, no, no!” I stammered, terrified.