"Then refuse it!" cried Van Naghel, himself losing his temper and forgetting to pick his words. "Refuse it; and all the better for me! I shall be only too glad to have nothing more to do with you. Your wife compromised me the other day by coming to Bertha's reception, as if it were a matter of course...."
Van der Welcke clenched his fists:
"My wife," he echoed, "compromised you? By coming to...?"
"Van der Welcke!" Paul entreated.
"Yes," said Van Naghel. "She did."
"Don't you dare," cried Van der Welcke, "don't you dare to criticize my wife's actions in any way!"
"Your wife compromised us," Van Naghel repeated.
But Van der Welcke let himself go, unable to restrain himself any longer. He made a rush for Van Naghel, raised his hand:
"Take that!" he shouted, crimson with rage, utterly beside himself.
But Paul flung himself between them and seized Van der Welcke's arm. Bertha burst into hysterics, uttered scream after scream. Constance almost fainted. The two men stood facing each other, no longer drawing-room people, blazing now with mutual hatred: