He made as if he would pass onward; but the colonel politely but with decision barred the path.
"I must request that you wait a little longer, Herr Count," he said, his face darkening.
"And why should I?" demanded the count.
"To convince me that the lady on your arm is not my wife," was the reply, in an excited tone.
"You will have to remain unconvinced," in an equally excited tone retorted Count Vavel; and for a brief instant it was a question which of the two enraged men would strike the first blow.
The threatening scene was suddenly concluded by the baroness, who flung back her veil, exclaiming: "Here, Colonel Barthelmy, you may convince yourself that I am not your wife."
Leon Barthelmy started in amazement, and hastily laid his hand against his lips as if to repress the words which had rushed to them. Then he bowed with exaggerated courtesy, and said: "I most humbly beg your pardon, Herr Count Vavel. This lady is not Ange Barthelmy. These gentlemen are witnesses that I have asked your pardon in the proper form."
The colonel's companions, who had come hastily forward at the threatened conflict between their superior and the count, were gazing in a peculiar manner at the lady whose hospitality they had so lately enjoyed. Colonel Barthelmy also, although he bowed with elaborate courtesy before the baroness, cast upon her a glance that was full of insulting scorn.
The situation had changed so rapidly—as when a sudden flash of lightning illumines the darkness of night; and like the electric flash a light sped into Vavel's heart and illumined it with a delicious, a heavenly warmth that made it throb madly. But only for an instant. Then he realized that this woman who had dared everything for his sake had been insulted by the glance of scorn and derision.
He had now lost all control of himself. He snatched a pistol from his pocket, directed the muzzle toward Colonel Barthelmy's sneering face, and said in a voice that quivered with savage fury: