Plainly enough she saw them; but she
was only half-terrified; she seemed aroused to a sort of whirlwind of
passion.
"Oh, say it!" she cried. "Why don't you say it? Do you think I don't see
it in your eyes? '_I hate you!_'--that's what you want to say; and you
haven't the courage--you're a man, and you haven't the courage!"
That look did not depart from his face; but he stood in silence for a
second, as if considering whether he should speak. His self-control
infuriated her all the more.
"Do you think I care?" she exclaimed, with panting breath. "Do you
think I care whether you hate me or not--whether you go sighing all day
after your painted Italian doll? And do you imagine I want to wear this
thing--that it is for this I will put up with every kind of insult and
neglect? Not I!"
She pulled the bit of india-rubber from her finger; she dragged off the
engagement-ring and dashed it on the floor in front of his feet--while
her eyes sparkled with rage, and the cherry-paste hardly concealed the
whiteness of her lips.
"Take it--and give it to the organ-grinder!" she called, in the madness
of her rage.
He did not even look whither the ring had rolled.
Pages:
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602