“May I see him, then? May I tell him how sorry I am? Of course he can be released at once?”
“I regret to say that is impossible. He was violent and resisted my men. They were obliged to handcuff him, and even then he was troublesome. Believe me, that a night in a cell will cool his blood.”
“Oh!” cried Teresa, squeezing her hands in distress, “pray, pray let him go! He was maddened by a false accusation.”
The other coughed significantly.
“Excuse me, marchesa,” he said; “I could tell you a great deal about the fellow, which you do not know and would not guess.”
“I know,” she said, “that he is a most unhappy man.”
“He belongs to the advanced socialist party. He is dangerous.”
“I do not care whether he is dangerous or not,” she returned indignantly, for she was growing angry. “I supposed he was, as your men were so afraid of him. Being a socialist has nothing to do with it; he is here because I accused him falsely, and I don’t wonder that he resisted. You would have done the same.”
The questor shrugged his shoulders stubbornly. Wilbraham believed that he was rejoiced to inflict a humiliation upon an enemy of law and order.
“Possibly,” he assented. “Nevertheless, he must be punished.”