"I perceive, Count Nobili," he says, "you are impatient."
This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili.
"Let me go! A thousand devils! Let me go!" cried the count, putting the lawyer back. "Impatient! I am maddened!"
"But not before we have settled the matter in question. That is impossible! Hear me, then. Count Nobili. With the deepest sorrow I accept the separation you demand on the part of the marchesa; you give me no choice. I venture no further remark," continues Guglielmi meekly, drilling his eyes to a subdued expression.
(His eyes are a continual curse to him; sometimes they will tell the truth.)
"But there is one point, my dear count, upon which we must understand each other."
In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit himself to a deliberate lie. Lying is not his practice; not on principle, for he has none. Expediency is his faith, pliancy his creed; lying is inartistic, also dangerous. A lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt you to your grave, perhaps beyond it.
Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that exalted personage who desired to avoid all scandal not connected with himself would be irretrievably offended, and he, Guglielmi, would never sit on the judicial bench. Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster shuddered at the thought of what that lie might cost him.
"It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili"—Guglielmi is speaking with pompous earnestness—he anxiously notes the effect his words produce upon Count Nobili—"that, unless you remain under the same roof with your wife to-night, the marriage will not be completed; therefore no separation between you will be legal."
Nobili turned pale. He struck his fist violently on the table.