"Let me speak," he said in the tone she could not help obeying. "What explanation have you to offer of Donna Sabina's presence here?" he asked.
As he put the question, he nodded significantly to Malipieri, over his wife's shoulder, evidently to make the latter understand that he must at least invent some excuse if he had none ready. The Baron did not care a straw what became of him, or of Sabina, and wished them both out of his way for ever, but he had always avoided scandal, and was especially anxious to avoid it now.
Malipieri resented the hint much more than the Baroness's anger, but he was far too much in the wrong, innocent though he was, to show his resentment.
He told his story firmly and coolly, and it agreed exactly with
Sabina's.
"That is exactly what happened last night," he concluded. "If you will go down, you will find the breach I made, and the first vaults full of water. I have nothing more to say."
"You taught her the lesson admirably," said the Baroness with withering scorn. "She told me the same story almost word for word!"
"Madam," Malipieri answered, "I give you my word of honour that it is true."
"My dear," Volterra said, speaking to his wife, "when a gentleman gives his word of honour, you are bound to accept it."
"I hope so," said Malipieri.
"Any man would perjure himself for a woman," retorted the Baroness with contempt.