"In what place did he die?"
"In the interior of Ormfell."
"How came he to die?"
"I killed him!"
At this answer a thrill pervaded the assembly. Half-articulate screams arose from the ladies. From fair jewelled hands play-bills and books of the words slid to the floor. There they lay unheeded, being no longer required. The sham-tragedy was over: a new and unrehearsed drama of real life was taking place before their eyes, and the audience bent forward to watch and to listen.
Ivar, with a troubled look, rose at this point and made an attempt to stay Lorelie's action.
"Let down the curtain," he cried to an attendant in the wings. "What devil's work is this?" he continued, turning fiercely upon his wife. "Let it cease! Restore my father to his normal state. You have mesmerized him, and, mistress of his mind, you are making him say whatever you wish. Do you think that any one here believes him?"
One word from her, one imperious gesture, one flash of her eyes, was sufficient to quell Ivar's opposition.
"Malvazia!" she whispered, pointing to the sapphire cup.
The viscount shrank back, knowing that the hour of his fall and humiliation was at hand.