‘Beast,’ the woman cried, in a tone of concentrated fury and contempt. ‘Go. Do you hear? I tell you to go, or I send Marie for the police.’
‘Pish, you little fool, you know you dare not. What money have you?’
‘Money, indeed! I have none, and if I had I would rather fling it in the gutter than you should have it. Go—go—are you deaf?’
‘Hand over the rest of the jewels then; or I call in the police myself, and tell them—you know what.’
‘It is a lie—a lie. I am his wife.’
‘Idiot—you are my wife, not his.’
‘You cannot prove it,’ she said fiercely.
‘I can. I have the documents safe in Paris.’
‘Go and fetch them, then.’
‘So I will, and take you and the jewels along with me. For I am willing to forgive—yes, listen—it is your only chance now that you are found out.—I, your lawful husband, Bartolomeo Marsigli, am willing to forgive, to condone your infidelities, and receive you back.’