"That is what I call upon you to, explain. You come unannounced into my rooms, and then ask me what it means. You have been dining, Sir Charles Mitford!"
"Ah, I know what you're up to, then; but you're not right--I'll swear you're not right. Not one drop of anything have I had for God knows how many hours. But I'm faint, weary, and heart-broken. Tell me, tell me, you heartless devil, is this true that I've heard?" He alternated from maudlin sentimentality to fierce rage, and it was difficult to say under which aspect he was most detestable.
"Let go my hand," said she, trying to snatch her wrist from his clutch; "let go my hand, or I'll call for assistance! How can I tell whether what you've heard is true or not, when you've not had sense enough to tell me what it is?"
She spoke in a deadly cold metallic voice; and what she said roused him to a pitch of fury. Ever since she had first discovered that he occasionally resorted to the brandy-bottle, she had taunted him with covert allusions to his drinking, well aware that nothing rendered him so savage.
"Curse you!" he said, "that's your old taunt. Did you not hear me say that nothing had passed my lips for hours? Now, answer me one question, or rather first hear me speak. I know all."
"Do you?" said she with a sneer; "then you are a cleverer man than ever I imagined you to be!"
"Prince Tchernigow is in Baden."
"And what of that?"
"He visits you daily--twice a day."
"And what of that? Why should he not? What is that to you?"