"What will it matter?" he cried. "I shall have had my revenge."
"My pet," she said, "in a business of that kind one never has one's
revenge if one doesn't take it directly."
He paused and stammered. He was certainly no poltroon, but he felt that
she was right. An uneasy feeling was growing momentarily stronger within
him, a poor, shameful feeling which softened his anger now that it was
at its hottest. Moreover, in her frank desire to tell him everything,
she dealt him a fresh blow.
"And d'you want to know what's annoying you, dearest? Why, that you
are deceiving your wife yourself. You don't sleep away from home for
nothing, eh? Your wife must have her suspicions. Well then, how can you
blame her? She'll tell you that you've set her the example, and that'll
shut you up. There, now, that's why you're stamping about here instead
of being at home murdering both of 'em."
Muffat had again sunk down on the chair; he was overwhelmed by these
home thrusts. She broke off and took breath, and then in a low voice:
"Oh, I'm a wreck! Do help me sit up a bit. I keep slipping down, and my
head's too low."
When he had helped her she sighed and felt more comfortable. And with
that she harked back to the subject.
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