He sees his error, perceives that he has offended her, and it pains him.
"Selina," he says, softly, "there shall be no lack of good friends for you at my side; and then, after all, what need have we of other people? Can we not find our happiness in each other? What if God should bless us with an angel like the one He has taken from us?"
He kneels beside her and kisses her hand, but she withdraws it hastily.
"Do not touch me!" she exclaims; "I am not Olga!"
He starts to his feet as if stung by a serpent. "What do you mean?"
"What I say."
"I do not understand you!"
"Hypocrite!" she gasps, her jealousy gaining absolute mastery of her; "I am not blind; do you suppose I do not know upon whom you lavish kind words and caresses every day, which fall to my share only when you want some favour of me?"
It seems to him that he hears the rustle of feminine garments in the next room. "For God's sake, Selina, not so loud," he whispers.
"Ah! your first emotion is dread of injuring her; all else is indifferent to you. It does not even occur to you to repel my accusation."