this unseemly controversy over her," he said in a raucous voice.
"I have told you I will give no freedom upon your request--and I
have warned you of my action. Now I shall go," and he took three
steps toward the door.

But Count Roumovski's next words arrested him a moment; his tone
was no longer one of suave, detached calmness, but sharp and
decisive, and his bearing was instinct with strength and
determination.

"Since we are coming to warnings," he said, "we drop the velvet
glove. The discourtesy to a lady conveyed in your words obliges me
to use my own way without further consulting you for assisting her
wishes. I will again thank you for coming up here and will have
the honor to wish you goodnight." With which he opened the door
politely and bowed his visitor out.

And when he was alone Count Roumovski sat down by the open window
and puffed his cigar meditatively for some minutes, smiling
quietly to himself as he mused:

"Poor, stupid fellow! If people could only be honest enough with
themselves to have a sensible point of view! It is all so simple
if they would get down to the reason of things without all this
false sentiment. Of what use to chain the body of a woman to one
man if her spirit is with another? Of what use to talk of offended
honor with high-sounding words when, if one were truthful, one
would own it was offended vanity? Of what use for this narrow,
foolish clergyman to protest and bombast and rave, underneath he
is actuated by mostly human motives in his desire to marry my