"But I want you to state what you accuse me of. Hurry," I added menacingly.
The Tisch was unmoved. Either she thinks me a horrible dastard or is brave to madness. She looked at me fearlessly and smiled. She seemed to enjoy my rage.
"Answer or I will shoot you like the dog you are."
And then her cold and fearless voice rang out: "Put your revolver away. I am not afraid to tell you, and that thing might go off. Is it possible," she continued sarcastically, "you have to ask?"
This woman dared to address me "you." "Tisch," I thundered, "my title reads Your Imperial Highness."
Another contemptuous smile curled her thin lips as she answered insolently: "At your commands. But if you want me to talk, put away the weapon. I won't open my head while threatened."
I threw the revolver into a drawer of my chiffonier and the Tisch approached me. "Do you know this?" she hissed, whipping from her desert bosom the golden Portebonheur, Henry's present.
I had missed it for two days. Fear seized my throat.
"Do you know this?" repeated the Tisch, pushing the button and disclosing Henry's miniature with the legend "To my sweetest Louise."
"Where did you get it?" I asked, half-dead with shame and fear.