When everyone had gone to their rooms after midnight he ventured to visit her in her own apartments. Her women were there; she did not as usual dismiss them; she looked at him with something of that expression which used to chill the soul of Platon Napraxine.
'My dear friend,' she said coldly as he greeted her, 'do not speak to me again as you spoke yesterday evening. It is not what I like.'
'I regret it if I spoke improperly,' replied Othmar. 'I was not conscious that I did. You had made a promise, and I reminded you of it. I was not aware there was any grave offence in that.'
'C'est le ton qui fait la musique. Your tone was offensive. You may remember that I do not care to be reminded of anything when I forget it.'
'There is nothing praiseworthy in your sentiment,' said her husband unwisely; 'and it seemed to me that a promise made to a poor child, who could not enforce its fulfilment——'
She laughed unkindly.
'You kept my promise for me. I believe you accompanied her yourself. I dare say she preferred it. Really, my dear Otho, what can this trivial matter concern either you or me? The girl has gone back to her island. Let her stay there and marry her cousin.'
'I wish she may. But I doubt whether she will do so now.'
'Because you sailed with her across the sea? It was very wrong of you, though probably very natural, if you took the occasion to conter fleurettes!'
'I do not care for those jests from you to me. It is what you yourself have said to her which will have probably poisoned her contentment for the rest of her days.'