“Don’t challenge me,” exclaimed Wanda. Her eyes began to flash, and a flush entered her cheeks.
“If you won’t be mine now,” I continued, with a voice stifled with rage, “no one else shall possess you either.”
“What play is this from?” she mocked, seizing me by the breast. She was pale with anger at this moment. “Don’t challenge me,” she continued, “I am not cruel, but I don’t know whether I may not become so and whether then there will be any bounds.”
“What worse can you do, than to make your lover, your husband?” I exclaimed, more and more enraged.
“I might make you his slave,” she replied quickly, “are you not in my power? Haven’t I the agreement? But, of course, you will merely take pleasure in it, if I have you bound, and say to him.
“Do with him what you please.”
“Woman, are you mad!” I cried.
“I am entirely rational,” she said, calmly. “I warn you for the last time. Don’t offer any resistance, one who has gone as far as I have gone might easily go still further. I feel a sort of hatred for you, and would find a real joy in seeing him beat you to death; I am still restraining myself, but—”
Scarcely master of myself any longer, I seized her by the wrist and forced her to the ground, so that she lay on her knees before me.
“Severin!” she cried. Rage and terror were painted on her face.