She dropped her eyes. A strange smile curved her lips.
“If the truth should come out, what would people think of me, Herr Gösta?”
“They would not think anything. They would know that it meant nothing. They would think that we entered into our parts and were going on with the play.”
Yet another question, with lowered lids and with the same forced smile,—
“But you yourself? What do you think about it, Herr Gösta?”
“I think that you are in love with me,” he jested.
“Think no such thing,” she smiled, “for then I must run you through with my stiletto to show you that you are wrong.”
“Women’s kisses are precious,” said Gösta. “Does it cost one’s life to be kissed by Marianne Sinclair?”
A glance flashed on him from Marianne’s eyes, so sharp that it felt like a blow.
“I could wish to see you dead, Gösta Berling! dead! dead!”