ed
desperately.

"Who was your companion?" he repeated.

"A--man."

"You brought him here?"

"He--came in--for a moment."

"Who was he?"

"I--never before saw him."

"You picked up a man in the street and brought him here with you?"

"N-not on the street----"

"Where?"

"On the lawn--while your guests were dancing----"

"And you came to Paris with him?"

"Y-yes."

"Who was he?"

"I don't know----"

"If you don't name him, I'll kill you!" he yelled, losing the last
vestige of self-control. "What kind of story are you trying to tell
me, you lying drab! You've got a lover! Confess it!"

"I have not!"

"Liar! So this is how you've laughed at me, mocked me, betrayed me,
made a fool of me! You!--with your fierce little snappish ways of a
virgin! You with your dangerous airs of a tiger-cat if a man so much
as laid a finger on your vicious body! So Mademoiselle-Don't-touch-me
had a lover all the while. Max Freund warned me to keep an eye on
you!" He lost control of himself again; his voice became a hoarse
shout: "Max Freund begged me not to trust you! You filthy little
beast! Good God! Was I crazy to believe in you--to talk without
reserve in your presence! What kind of imbecile was I to offer you
marriage because I was crazy enough to believe that there was no other
way to possess you! You--a Levantine dancing girl--a common painted
thing of the public footlights--a creature of brasserie and cabaret!
And you posed as Mademoiselle Nitouche! A novice! A devotee of
chastity! And, by God, your devilish ingenuity at last persuaded me
that you actually were what you said you were. And all Paris knew you
were fooling me--all Paris was laughing in its dirty sleeve--mocking
me--spitting on me----"

"All Paris," she said, in an unsteady voice, "gave you credit for
being my lover. And I endured it. And you knew it was not true. Yet
you never denied it.... But as for me, I never had a lover. When I
told you that I told you the truth. And it is true to-day as it was
yesterday. Nobody believes it of a dancing girl. Now, _you_ no longer
believe it. Very well, there is no occasion for melodrama. I tried to
fall in love with you: I couldn't. I did not desire to marry you. You
insisted. Very well; you can go."

"Not before I learn the name of your lover of last night!" he
retorted, now almost beside himself with fury, and once more menacing
her with his pistol. "I'll get that much change out of all the money
I've l