Fainacky turns pale to the lips, and his expression is one of intense malice.
"It is true," he says, "that I so far forgot myself for a moment as to offer your youthful protégeé my hand. Good heavens! I am not the first man of rank who, in a moment of enthusiasm and to soothe the irritated nerves of a shy beauty, has offered to marry a girl of low extraction. The obstacle, however, which bars my way to her heart appears to be of so serious a nature that I shall make no attempt to remove it."
He utters the words with a provoking smile and most malicious emphasis.
"To what obstacle do you refer?" Lato exclaims, in increasing anger.
"Can you seriously ask me that question?" the Pole murmurs, in a low voice like the hiss of a serpent.
Transported with anger, Treurenberg lifts his hand; the Pole scans him quietly.
"If you wish for a duel, there is no need to resort to so drastic a measure to provoke it. But do you seriously think it would be well for the fair fame of your--your lovely protégeé that you should fight for her?" And, turning on his heel, Fainacky walks towards the castle.
Lato stands as if rooted to the spot, his gaze riveted on the ground.