"You are a poor liar," she interrupted. "If you had made inquiries, the answer would have been here long ago. It is not so much the dread of punishment as of taking home a Jewish wife."
"No, no! how often must I assure you of that?"
"What else is it? We are both being ruined by it, Agenor. Cannot you comprehend what I feel when I think we are not able to go home while my father lives, because of his anger. I know he must be very angry, because he has not answered my second letter."
"Have you written him?" the count asked, growing very pale.
"Yes, a few days before my delivery. I could not restrain my fears. There are words in that letter which, if he does not answer, he must be angry indeed. I implore you, let me try it by word of mouth."
He did not hear her. His face became gray, as he thought of the results of this letter. "Everything is lost," he thought. "By this time they know of the fraud."
"How could you do this?" he suddenly asked.
"What!" she cried, and her eyes flashed. "Do you dare reproach me with that letter? Are you not human? have you never had parents? And yet you say you love me!"
"I did not mean it so," he replied. "You are right. We must commence to think of going home. But not before spring. A winter journey from Lake Garda to Galicia, with that delicate child, would be madness. Remember our journey to Fiume!"
"That is an especially difficult road. We can go via Vienna."