LOUKA.
Do you think she would believe the Swiss if he told her now that I am in your arms?
SERGIUS.
(releasing her in despair). Damnation! Oh, damnation! Mockery, mockery everywhere: everything I think is mocked by everything I do. (He strikes himself frantically on the breast.) Coward, liar, fool! Shall I kill myself like a man, or live and pretend to laugh at myself? (She again turns to go.) Louka! (She stops near the door.) Remember: you belong to me.
LOUKA.
(quietly). What does that mean—an insult?
SERGIUS.
(commandingly). It means that you love me, and that I have had you here in my arms, and will perhaps have you there again. Whether that is an insult I neither know nor care: take it as you please. But (vehemently) I will not be a coward and a trifler. If I choose to love you, I dare marry you, in spite of all Bulgaria. If these hands ever touch you again, they shall touch my affianced bride.
LOUKA.
We shall see whether you dare keep your word. But take care. I will not wait long.
SERGIUS.
(again folding his arms and standing motionless in the middle of the room). Yes, we shall see. And you shall wait my pleasure.
(Bluntschli, much preoccupied, with his papers still in his hand, enters, leaving the door open for Louka to go out. He goes across to the table, glancing at her as he passes. Sergius, without altering his resolute attitude, watches him steadily. Louka goes out, leaving the door open.)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(absently, sitting at the table as before, and putting down his papers). That’s a remarkable looking young woman.
SERGIUS.
(gravely, without moving). Captain Bluntschli.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Eh?