“Papa will speak to you as soon as they’re all gone. The carriages will be here in three-quarters of an hour.”

“Very well,” he said laconically.

Her blood seethed up:

“You’re a cowardly wretch!” she cried. “You’ve struck Emilie!”

He flared up, losing all his stiff German society-manners:

“And I’m her husband!” he roared. “But you ... you ...”

“What about me?”

“You’ve no decency! You’re in love with your uncle! With a married man!”

“O-o-oh!” screamed Marianne.

She hid her face with her hands, terrified. Then she recovered herself, but her pale face flushed red with shame: