“Give up? You coward!”
“I knew you would say that.”
“Then you deserve it.”
“I do not.”
“Explain yourself.”
I told her briefly the confidence that the patroon had placed in me and the way the deception gnawed my conscience. I did not move her in the least. Her lips curled in scorn and she gripped her hands together till they were all mottled red and white with the pressure.
“Sit down,” she said in a tone so cold and biting that it made me shiver. “If you are going to leave my service I shall dismiss you like a man.”
She strode haughtily across the room and poured out two glasses of wine. She came back and handed one of them to me.
“My dear Michael,” she began. “I am a stormy woman. I repent of what I said to you. Here we part. Rise and lift your glass. We shall drink a toast before you go.”
I stood up. This was easier than I had expected. I had counted on more of a scene and could almost smile at the ease of my achievement.