"Well!" the stranger replied, speaking with a slight snarl, "I am a man now, but I shall soon change."
"A man and will soon change?" Madame Mildau cried; "oh, you're mad, mad—and I'm shut up in here with a lunatic! Help! help!"
"Calmly, calmly," the stranger exclaimed, lifting her hands to his lips and kissing them. "I'm perfectly sane, and at present perfectly harmless. Now tell me, madame—and mind, be candid with me—why don't you love your husband?"
"How do you know I don't?" Madame Mildau faltered.
"Tut, tut!" the young man said. "Anyone could see that with half an eye. Besides, consider your conduct to-night! Answer my questions."
"Well, you see!" Madame Mildau stammered, having come to the conclusion that even if the man were not mad it would be highly impolitic to provoke him, "I'm so much younger than he is. I'm only twenty-three, whereas he is forty-five. Besides, he detests all amusements, and I love them—especially dances. He is too fat to——"
"Are you sure he is fat? Will you swear he is fat?" the stranger asked, grasping her hands so tightly that she screamed.
"I swear it!" she said, "he is quite the fattest man I know."
"And tender! But no, he can't be very tender!"
"What questions to ask!" Madame Mildau said. "How do I know whether he is tender! Besides, what does it concern you?"