Beckendorff for one moment was motionless: he then gave her a look of piercing earnestness, threw Vivian, rather than released him, from his hold, and flung the dagger with a bitter smile, into the corner of the room. “Well, madam!” said he, in a choking voice, “you are obeyed!”
“Mr. Grey,” continued the Baroness, “I regret that this outrage should have been experienced by you because you have dared to serve me. My presence should have preserved you from this contumely; but what are we to expect from those who pride themselves upon being the sons of slaves! You shall hear further from me.” So saying, the lady, bowing to Vivian, and sweeping by the Minister with a glance of indescribable disdain, quitted the apartment. As she was on the point of leaving the room, Vivian was standing against the wall, with a pale face and folded arms; Beckendorff, with his back to the window, his eyes fixed on the ground; and Vivian, to his astonishment, perceived, what escaped the Minister’s notice, that while the lady bade him adieu with one hand she made rapid signs with the other to some unknown person in the garden.
Mr. Beckendorff and Vivian were left alone, and the latter was the first to break silence.
“Mr. Beckendorff,” said he, in a calm voice, “considering the circumstances under which you have found me in your house this morning, I should have known how to excuse and to forget any irritable expressions which a moment of ungovernable passion might have inspired. I should have passed them over unnoticed. But your unjustifiable behaviour has exceeded that line of demarcation which sympathy with human feelings allows even men of honour to recognise. You have disgraced both me and yourself by giving me a blow. It is, as that lady well styled it, an outrage; an outrage which the blood of any other man but yourself could only obliterate from my memory; but while I am inclined to be indulgent to your exalted station and your peculiar character, I at the same time expect, and now wait for, an apology!”
“An apology!” said Beckendorff, now beginning to stamp up and down the room; “an apology! Shall it be made to you, sir, or the Archduchess?”
“The Archduchess;” said Vivian. “Good God! what can you mean! Did I hear you right?”
“I said the Archduchess,” answered Beckendorff, with firmness; “a Princess of the House of Austria, and the pledged wife of his Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Reisenburg. Perhaps you may now think that other persons have to apologise?”
“Mr. Beckendorff,” said Vivian, “I am overwhelmed; I declare, upon my honour—”
“Stop, sir! you have said too much already—”
“But, Mr. Beckendorff, surely you will allow me to explain—”