The commissary again asked: "Who are you?"
The bewildered lover not replying, he continued: "I am a commissary of police, and I summon you to tell me your name."
George, who was quivering with brutal wrath, shouted: "Answer, you coward, or I will tell your name myself."
Then the man in the bed stammered: "Mr. Commissary, you ought not to allow me to be insulted by this person. Is it with you or with him that I have to do? Is it to you or to him that I have to answer?"
His mouth seemed to be dried up as he spoke.
The commissary replied: "With me, sir; with me alone. I ask you who you are?"
The other was silent. He held the sheet close up to his neck, and rolled his startled eyes. His little, curled-up moustache showed up black upon his blanched face.
The commissary continued: "You will not answer, eh? Then I shall be forced to arrest you. In any case, get up. I will question you when you are dressed."
The body wriggled in the bed, and the head murmured: "But I cannot, before you."
The commissary asked: "Why not?"