SERGIUS.
Who is my rival?
LOUKA.
You shall never get that out of me, for love or money.
SERGIUS.
Why?
LOUKA.
Never mind why. Besides, you would tell that I told you; and I should lose my place.
SERGIUS.
(holding out his right hand in affirmation). No; on the honor of a—(He checks himself, and his hand drops nerveless as he concludes, sardonically)—of a man capable of behaving as I have been behaving for the last five minutes. Who is he?
LOUKA.
I don’t know. I never saw him. I only heard his voice through the door of her room.
SERGIUS.
Damnation! How dare you?
LOUKA.
(retreating). Oh, I mean no harm: you’ve no right to take up my words like that. The mistress knows all about it. And I tell you that if that gentleman ever comes here again, Miss Raina will marry him, whether he likes it or not. I know the difference between the sort of manner you and she put on before one another and the real manner. (Sergius shivers as if she had stabbed him. Then, setting his face like iron, he strides grimly to her, and grips her above the elbows with both bands.)
SERGIUS.
Now listen you to me!
LOUKA.
(wincing). Not so tight: you’re hurting me!