When she was in her bed-chamber, and had quite come to herself; though her nerves were still much shaken, he spoke to her more sternly. ‘Now, my lady, answer me: do you love him—eh?’
‘No—no!’ she faltered, shuddering, with her expanded eyes fixed on her husband. ‘He is too terrible—no, no!’
‘You are sure?’
‘Quite sure!’ replied the poor broken-spirited Countess. But her natural elasticity asserted itself. Next morning he again inquired of her: ‘Do you love him now?’
She quailed under his gaze, but did not reply.
‘That means that you do still, by G---!’ he continued.
‘It means that I will not tell an untruth, and do not wish to incense my lord,’ she answered, with dignity.
‘Then suppose we go and have another look at him?’ As he spoke, he suddenly took her by the wrist, and turned as if to lead her towards the ghastly closet.
‘No—no! Oh—no!’ she cried, and her desperate wriggle out of his hand revealed that the fright of the night had left more impression upon her delicate soul than superficially appeared.
‘Another dose or two, and she will be cured,’ he said to himself.