“She will not come.”
“She will come. By God, I will make her! I have tasted blood to-night, and I am not a child to be treated with contempt. I say I will make her come.”
“But if she refuses?”
“Then I will take care she does not go back to the Englishman.”
“You will—” but madam’s voice faltered. Gregorio read her meaning and laughed a yes.
“But, Gregorio, think; you will be hanged for that. You wife is not a Jewess.”
But Gregorio laughed again and strode into the street. He was mad with grief and the intoxicating draughts of vengeance he had swallowed. He strode across the road and mounted the stairs with steady feet. Madam Marx followed him, weeping and calling on him to come back. As he reached the door of his room she flung herself before him, but he pushed her on one side with his feet and shut the door behind him as he entered.
Lying on the threshold, she heard the bolt fastened, and knew the last act of the tragedy was begun.