"I am sorry, but your words oblige me to break a disagreeable piece of news to you. But I see you are busy; you don't take any interest—"
"Go on talking," returned Eveline, who was standing before the looking-glass washing the paint off her face. "I am listening."
"For the future, I regret to say, you will not have a house of your own. The affairs of your friend, Prince Theobald, have been sequestrated; his property is now in the hands of trustees. I need not tell you, for I am sure you have known all along, that the hotel you occupy, together with all your expenses, has been paid for by him. This, naturally, is at an end. In my circumstances I could not afford to give you a separate establishment; we will, therefore, be obliged to live together, and it follows naturally that I shall expect my wife to receive as her guests my friends, and to make them welcome."
Eveline had laid aside her queenly robes; she now took off her diadem, and as she slowly unfastened her bracelets she turned and faced Felix.
"And do you think," she said, "that when I leave my hotel I cannot get for myself a garret somewhere, where there will be a door with a strong bolt, with which I can bar the entrance of any unpleasant visitors?"
Felix looked at her in amazement; he constrained himself to take a more friendly tone.
"I must call your attention to one fact. We are in Paris, and the French marital law is strict. A wife must dwell under her husband's roof. She must go where he goes. She must obey him."
Eveline was now busy undoing the gold sandals which bound her feet. She looked steadily at Kaulmann, with her eyes glowing like lamps.
"I must call your attention," she said, "to one fact. We are in Paris, and according to the French law those persons who have been married before the altar, and not before the civil authorities, are not considered legally married, and that, therefore, our marriage is null and void."
Kaulmann sprang to his feet as if he had been bitten by a tarantula.