“You may not?”
“May not?” she laughed, not very successfully. “There is no compulsion, that I know of.”
“There is,” he retorted significantly, “to speak the truth.”
In spite of her fears, his insistence began to irritate her. “If you know better than I, Count, my testimony can scarcely be necessary.”
“Perhaps not,” he returned brusquely; “still I mean to have it.”
He had risen, and now stood over her. The sense of the man’s immense power seemed to dominate her, but she thought of Ruperta, and determined the secret should not be drawn from her.
“You will not tell me the truth,” he continued, “without forcing me to extort it.”
“Extort it?” Desperation gave her courage, and her scornful smile was unforced.
He nodded. “You will do well to listen to reason, Fräulein. I am asking no great matter; simply inviting you to tell me the truth, which I already suspect to practical certainty.”
“If you are uncivil enough to doubt a lady’s word——” she began weakly. He interrupted her by a contemptuous laugh.