When Bergenheim’s eyes met Octave’s, they were so full of vengeance and hatred that the latter trembled as if he had come in contact with a wild beast.  The lover actually realized the inferiority of his attitude in the presence of this enraged husband.  A feeling of self-pride and indignation came to his aid.  He put aside remorse and regrets until later; these sad expiations were forbidden him now; another duty lay before him.  There is only one reparation possible for certain offences.  The course once open, one must go to its very end; pardon is to be found only upon the tomb of the offended.

Octave knew he had to submit to this necessity.  He stifled all scruples which might have weakened his firmness, and resumed his habitual disdainful look.  His eyes returned his enemy’s glance of deadly hatred, and he began the conversation like a man who is accustomed to master the events of his life and forbids any one to shape them for him.

“Before any explanations take place between us,” he said, “I have to declare to you, upon my honor, that there is only one guilty person in this affair, and that I am the one.  The slightest reproach addressed to Madame de Bergenheim would be a most unjust outrage and a most deplorable error on your part.  I introduced myself into her apartment without her knowledge and without having been authorized in any way to do so.  I had just entered it when you arrived.  Necessity obliges me to admit a love that is an outrage to you; I am ready to repair this outrage by any satisfaction you may demand; but in putting myself at your discretion, I earnestly insist upon exculpating Madame de Bergenheim from all that can in any way affect her virtue or her reputation.”

“As to her reputation,” said Christian, “I will watch over that; as to her virtue—­”

He did not finish, but his face assumed an expression of incredulous irony.

“I swear to you, Monsieur,” said Octave, with increasing emotion, “that she is above all seduction and should be sheltered from all insult; I swear to you—­What oath can I take that you will believe?  I swear that Madame de Bergenheim never has betrayed any of her duties toward you; that I never have received the slightest encouragement from her; that she is as innocent of my folly as the angels in heaven.”

Christian shook his head with a scornful smile.

“This day will be the undying remorse of my life if you will not believe me,” said Gerfaut, with almost uncontrolled vehemence; “I tell you, Monsieur, she is innocent; innocent! do you understand me?  I was led astray by my passion.  I wished to profit by your absence.  You know that I have a key to the library; I used it without her suspecting it.  Would to God that you could have been a witness to our tete-a-tete! you could then have not one doubt left.  Can one prevent a man from entering a lady’s room, when he has succeeded in finding the way to it in spite of her wishes?  I repeat it, she—­”