“I will not stop!” said the Marchesino, furiously. “To teach the Signorina all the—”
Artois lifted his hand.
“Do you want me to strike you on the mouth?” he said.
“Strike me!”
Artois looked at him with a steadiness that seemed to pierce.
“Then—take care, Panacci. You are losing your head.”
“And you have lost yours!” cried the Marchesino. “You, with your white hairs, you are mad. You are mad about the ‘child.’ You play papa, and all the time you are mad, and you think nobody sees it. But every one sees it, every one knows it. Every one knows that you are madly in love with the Signorina.”
Artois had stepped back.
“I—in love!” he said.
His voice was contemptuous, but his face had become flushed, and his hands suddenly clinched themselves.