"But whose fault is it?" rejoined Gabrielle. "This General Sabaroff, why is he so often here? I cannot help noticing the frequency of his visits, and I cannot help seeing Philip's sad look and your altered manner towards him. Again, what does it all mean? He is suffering, I am sure of it; your coldness towards him is distressing him deeply. All your amiability seems to be reserved for this Russian, whom I heard you call profligate, the last person in the world that I should have thought you would hoard your smiles for. How can you turn a cold face to such a husband as yours for such a man as this?"
"Really you are very observant, and your conclusions are most charitable, my dear sister—of charity," said Dora, who was beginning to stifle with misery and indignation.
"Yes," continued Gabrielle, not listening to her sister, "a husband who has given you a place in his heart which one only gives to God. Ah, do not attempt to contradict me. Your love for Philip is dying, if not already dead. Take care, Dora; Philip still loves you. He knows nothing of what is going on. It is not too late. Forbid your door to this man before harm comes of it. I beseech you, put a stop to General Sabaroff's too evident attentions to you."
This was more than Dora could stand. This woman, whose pride would not allow her to confide her sorrow to another soul, was roused to her very depths, and, seizing her sister's arms, she said to her—
"My loving husband, who gives me a place in his heart which should be reserved for God alone, is ready to sell my smiles for five hundred thousand roubles—do you hear what I tell you? After having been false to Art, that mistress of whom I should have been proud to be jealous, he does not seek to be false to me—that would be nothing compared to the crime he is about to commit. A husband! ah, faugh! There, I have unloaded my heart, I feel better."
"Dora, what are you saying? You are mad."
"I tell you that he knows everything and that you know nothing. It is Philip who forces me to receive this man in our intimate circle. It is he who throws open to General Sabaroff my dining-room, my drawing-room, and who, one of these days, will lend him the key of my bedroom. It was he who invited him to dine here to-night, certainly not I."
"But," said Gabrielle, "why is Philip not here?"
"Ah!" exclaimed Dora, "well you may ask—that is just what I should like to know."
Dora looked at Gabrielle, who stood dumfounded. "Never mind, don't listen to me, I scarcely know what I am talking about," she added, passing her hand over her forehead; "I am losing my head. No, no, my suppositions are impossible. He must have met with an accident. There can be no other explanation."