Véronique lost her balance, saved herself by catching at the back of a chair and once more stood erect before her adversary, with her arms folded and her eyes full of scorn.
This time Vorski again succeeded in controlling himself. He had acted under impulse and against his will. His voice retained an imperious and malevolent intonation:
"I repeat that the past still exists. Whether you like it or not, madame, you are Vorski's wife. And it is because of this undeniable fact that I am asking you, if you please, to consider yourself so to-day. Let us understand each other; if I do not aim at obtaining your love or even your friendship, I will not accept either that we should return to our former hostile relations. I do not want the scornful and distant wife that you have been. I want . . . I want a woman . . . a woman who will submit herself . . . who will be the devoted, attentive, faithful companion . . ."
"The slave," murmured Véronique.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "the slave; you have said it. I don't shrink from words any more than I do from deeds. The slave; and why not? A slave understands her duty, which is blindly to obey, bound hand and foot, perinde ac cadaver; does the part appeal to you? Will you belong to me body and soul? As for your soul, I don't care a fig about that. What I want . . . what I want . . . you know well enough, don't you? What I want is what I have never had. Your husband? Ha, ha, have I ever been your husband? Look back into my life as I will, amid all my seething emotions and delights, I do not find a single memory to remind me that there was ever between us anything but the pitiless struggle of two enemies. When I look at you, I see a stranger, a stranger in the past as in the present. Well, since my luck has turned, since I once more have you in my clutches, it shall not be so in the future. It shall not be so to-morrow, nor even to-night, Véronique. I am the master; you must accept the inevitable. Do you accept?"
He did not wait for her answer and, raising his voice still higher, roared:
"Do you accept? No subterfuges or false promises. Do you accept? If so, go on your knees, make the sign of the cross and say, in a firm voice, 'I accept. I will be a consenting wife. I will submit to all your orders and to all your whims. You are the master.'"
She shrugged her shoulders and made no reply. Vorski gave a start. The veins in his forehead swelled up. However, he still contained himself:
"Very well. For that matter, I was expecting this. But the consequences of your refusal will be so serious for you that I propose to make one last attempt. Perhaps, after all, your refusal is addressed to the fugitive that I am, to the poor beggar that I seem to be; and perhaps the truth will alter your ideas. That truth is dazzling and wonderful. As I told you, an unforeseen dawn has broken through my darkness; and Vorski, son of a king, is bathed in radiant light."
He had a trick of speaking of himself in the third person which Véronique knew of old and which was the sign of his insupportable vanity. She also observed and recognized in his eyes a peculiar gleam which was always there at moments of exaltation, a gleam which was obviously due to his drinking habits but in which she seemed to see besides a sign of temporary aberration. Was he not indeed a sort of madman and had his madness not increased as the years passed?