“Look here, prince, there must be an end of this ill-temper of yours. Do you hear? It’s got to finish. I insist. I won’t have any more sulking to-day; and I hope that you’ll go back to your cheerful, witty style of conversation as soon as possible, for that’s what I like in you.”
He mumbled something.
“Good-bye, prince,” said Cornélie, curtly.
And she turned to go away.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To my room. I shall breakfast in my room.”
“But why?”
“Because I don’t care for you as a host.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Yesterday you insult me. I defend myself, you go on being rude, I at once become as amiable as ever, I give you my hand, I even give you a kiss. At dinner you sulk with me in the most uncivil fashion. You go to bed without bidding me good-night. This morning you meet me without a word of greeting. You grunt, sulk and mumble like a naughty child. Your eyes are blazing with anger, you are yellow with spleen. Really, you’re looking very bad. It doesn’t suit you at all. You are most unpleasant, rough, rude and petty. I have no inclination to breakfast with you in that mood. And I’m going to my room.”