“I don’t like curious women,” he retorted, “and you had better remember the story of Bluebeard and be careful. … Come, give me back my bag! … Give me back my bag! … Leave the key alone, will you, you inquisitive little thing?”
And he chuckled, while Christine gave a cry of pain. Erik had evidently recovered the bag from her.
At that moment, the viscount could not help uttering an exclamation of impotent rage.
“Why, what’s that?” said the monster. “Did you hear, Christine?”
“No, no,” replied the poor girl. “I heard nothing.”
“I thought I heard a cry.”
“A cry! Are you going mad, Erik? Whom do you expect to give a cry, in this house? … I cried out, because you hurt me! I heard nothing.”
“I don’t like the way you said that! … You’re trembling. … You’re quite excited. … You’re lying! … That was a cry, there was a cry! … There is someone in the torture-chamber! … Ah, I understand now!”
“There is no one there, Erik!”
“I understand!”
“No one!”
“The man you want to marry, perhaps!”
“I don’t want to marry anybody, you know I don’t.”
Another nasty chuckle.