--my pistol-shot but put him out of torment.
You! you were glad of his death--as glad as when you thought of mine!
YOU talk of murder! Oh, vilest among women! if I could murder you
twenty times over, what then? Your sins outweigh all punishment!"

And I flung her from me with a gesture of contempt and loathing. This
time my words had struck home. She cowered before me in horror--her
sables were loosened and scarcely protected her, the richness of her
ball costume was fully displayed, and the diamonds on her bosom heaved
restlessly up and down as she panted with excitement, rage and fear.

"I do not see," she muttered, sullenly, "why you should blame ME! I am
no worse than other women!"

"No worse! no worse!" I cried. "Shame, shame upon you that thus outrage
your sex! Learn for once what MEN think of unfaithful wives--for may be
you are ignorant. The novels you have read in your luxurious, idle
hours have perhaps told you that infidelity is no sin--merely a little
social error easily condoned, or set right by the divorce court. Yes!
modern books and modern plays teach you so: in them the world swerves
upside down, and vice looks like virtue. But _I_ will tell you what may
seem to you a strange and wonderful thing! There is no mean animal, no
loathsome object, no horrible deformity of nature so utterly repulsive
to a true man as a faithless wife! The cowardly murderer who lies in
wait for his victim behind some dark door, and stabs him in the back as
he passes by unarmed--he, I say, is more to be pardoned than the woman
who takes a husband's name, honor, position, and reputation among his
fellows, and sheltering herself with these, passes her beauty
promiscuously about like some coarse article of commerce, that goes to
the highest bidder! Ay, let your French novels and books of their type
say what they will--infidelity is a crime, a low, brutal crime, as bad
if not worse than murder, and deserves as stern a sentence!"

A sudden spirit of defiant insolence possessed her. She drew herself
erect, and her level brows knitted in a dark frown.

"Sentence!" she exclaimed, imperiously. "How dare you judge me! What
harm have I done? If I am beautiful, is that my fault? If men are
fools, can _I_ help it? You loved me--Guido loved me--could _I_ prevent
it? I cared nothing for him, and less for you!"

"I know it," I said, bitterly. "Love was never part of YOUR nature! Our
lives were but cups of wine for your false lips to drain;