“Yes you have. He comes here every day to see you. He’s a blond. You can’t deny it.”
“Ah! He was in here a moment ago,” said Oswald.
“He’s not my lover. He’s a friend.”
“But why did you call Oswald?” queried Fanny in fury. “Do you love him?”
“I? No! But I want to show you that you can’t play with other persons’ lives as you played with mine. You betrayed me, and now I have had my revenge.”
“I’ll kill you,” howled Fanny again, and she seized Esther by the throat.
“Roberto! Roberto!” cried Esther, terrified.
Roberto burst into the studio, grabbed his cousin by the arm and pulled her violently away from Esther.
“Ah! It’s you, Bob?” exclaimed Fanny, immediately growing calm. “You came in the nick of time. I was going to murder her.”
Roberto’s arrival had the effect of somewhat tranquillizing the company. The four sat down and discussed the matter. They analyzed it as if it were some problem in chess. Fanny loved Oswald. Oswald was in love with Esther, and Esther did not feel the slightest inclination toward the painter. How were they to adjust the situation? Nobody would yield; besides, as they deliberated they went astray in labyrinths of psychological analysis that led nowhere. It had grown dark; Esther lighted the oil lamp and set it down upon the table. The discussion continued coldly; Oswald spoke in a monotone.