"I wish to Heaven you had had then! I should not have been in this mess," he replied.
"Ah!" she hissed. "If my hands were not fettered I would tear your eyes!"
"Sweet angel!" sneered the viscount, in mockery and self-mockery.
"Thsche!" she hissed, "let me at him!"
The viscount laughed, a hard, bitter, scornful laugh.
And at it they went, criminating and recriminating, until the empty carriage was driven away, and the policemen took them by the shoulders and pushed them into the station house.
They found themselves in a large stone hall, with iron-grated windows. It was partially warmed with a large, rusty stove, around which many men of the roughest cast were gathered, smoking, talking, and laughing. The walls were furnished with rude benches, upon which some men sat, some reclined, and some lay at full length. The stone floor was wet with the slop of the snow that had been brought in by so many feet and had melted. In one of these slops lay a woman, dead drunk.
"Ah! Good God! I cannot stay here!" cried Faustina, gathering up her skirts, as well as she could with her fettered hands, and looking around in strong disgust.
The viscount laughed in derision; he was angry, desperate, and he rejoiced in her discomfiture.
"Eh, Saunders! take these two women in the women's room," said McRae, beckoning a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed Scot to his assistance.