But he still held it by one of the sleeves, without letting it go, repeating, in a half-dazed manner:
"Oh! Why? Just explain. Whose overcoat is it? It is not mine, as it has the Legion of Honour on it."
She tried to take it from him, terrified, and hardly able to say:
"Listen—listen—give it to me—I must not tell you—it is a secret—listen to me."
But he grew angry, and turned pale:
"I want to know how this overcoat comes to be here? It does not belong to me."
Then she almost screamed at him:
"Yes it does; listen—swear to me—well—you are decorated."
She did not intend to joke at his expense.
He was so overcome that he let the overcoat fall, and dropped into an armchair.