as it were.  She tried dignity, tried anger, she affected amazement, she petitioned for the heads of his accusations, and, as nothing stopped him, she turned to go.  Pericles laughed when she had left the room.  Irma di Karski was announced the next minute, and Countess d’Isorella re-appeared beside her.  Irma had a similar greeting.  “I am lost,” she exclaimed.  “Yes, you are lost,” said Pericles; “a word from me, and the back of the public is humped at you—­ha! contessa, you touched Mdlle.  Irma’s hand?  She is to be on her guard, and never to think she is lost till down she goes?  You are a more experienced woman!  I tell you I will have no nonsense.  I am Countess Alessandra Ammiani’s friend.  You two, you women, are her enemies.  I will ruin you both.  You would prevent her singing in public places—­you, Countess d’Isorella, because you do not forgive her marriage to Count Ammiani; you, Irma, to spite her for her voice.  You would hiss her out of hearing, you two miserable creatures.  Not another soldo for you!  Not one! and to-morrow, countess, I will see my lawyer.  Irma, begone, and shriek to your wardrobe!  Countess d’Isorella, I have the extreme honour.”

Wilfrid marvelled to hear this titled and lovely woman speaking almost in tones of humility in reply to such outrageous insolence.  She craved a private interview.  Irma was temporarily expelled, and then Violetta stooped to ask what the Greek’s reason for his behaviour could be.  She admitted that it was in his power to ruin her, as far as money went.  “Perhaps a little farther,” said Pericles; “say two steps.  If one is on a precipice, two steps count for something.”  But, what had she done?  Pericles refused to declare it.  This set her guessing with a charming naivete.  Pericles called Irma back to assist her in the task, and quitted them that they might consult together and hit upon the right thing.  His object was to send his valet for Luigi Saracco.  He had seen that no truth could be extracted from these women, save forcibly.  Unaware that he had gone out, Wilfrid listened long enough to hear Irma say, between sobs:  “Oh!  I shall throw myself upon his mercy.  Oh, Countess d’Isorella, why did you lead me to think of vengeance!  I am lost!  He knows everything.  Oh, what is it to me whether she lives with her husband!  Let them go on plotting.  I am not the Government.  I am sure I don’t much dislike her.  Yes, I hate her, but why should I hurt myself?  She will wear those jewels on her forehead; she will wear that necklace with the big amethysts, and pretend she’s humble because she doesn’t carry earrings, when her ears have never been pierced!  I am lost!  Yes, you may say, lookup!  I am only a poor singer, and he can ruin me.  Oh!  Countess d’Isorella, oh! what a fearful punishment.  If Countess Anna should betray Count Ammiani to-night, nothing, nothing, will save me.  I will confess.  Let us both be beforehand with her—­or you, it does not matter for a noble lady.”