“Of course you had—you, who pretend to be such a good and faithful wife, and such a model mother,” he sneered. “I suppose you would not have returned to Treysa so soon had he not have come back.”
“You insult me!” she cried, rising from her chair, her Imperial blood asserting itself.
“Ah!” he laughed, taunting her. “You don’t like to hear the truth, do you? It seems that the scandal concerning you has been discovered in Vienna, for De Lindenau has ordered the fellow to return to the diplomatic service, and is sending him away to Rome.”
She was silent. She saw how every word and every action of hers was being misconstrued.
“Speak, woman!” he cried, advancing towards her. “Confess to me that you love the fellow.”
“Why, Ferdinand, do you wish me to say what is untrue?” she asked in a low voice, quite calm again, notwithstanding his threatening attitude.
“Ah, you deny it! You lie to me, even when I know the truth—when all the Court discuss your affection for the fellow whom you yourself introduced among us. You have been with him in Paris. Deny that!”
“I deny nothing that is true,” she answered. “I only deny your right to charge me with what is false.”
“Oh yes,” he cried. “You and your brat are a pretty pair. You believe we are all blind; but, on the contrary, everything is known. Confess!” he muttered between his teeth. “Confess that you love that man.”
She was silent, standing before him, her beautiful eyes fixed upon the carpet.