"Can you realize how difficult it is not to take you by the throat and strangle you here and now ?" "He is mad!" said Herbeck, bracing himself against the desk.
"Yes.

I _am_ mad, but it is the sane madness of a terribly wronged man.
Come here, you Gipsy!" The duke seized Herbeck's hand and pressed it down fiercely on the desk.

"Look at that and tell me if it is not the hand of a Judas!" "That is the hand, Highness," said the Gipsy, without hesitation.
The duke flung the hand aside.

As he did so something snapped in Herbeck's brain, though at that instant he was not conscious of it.
"It was you, you! It was your hand that wrecked my life, yours! Ah, is there such villainy?
Are such men born and do they live?
My wife dead, my own heart broken, Arnsberg ruined and disgraced! And these two children: which is mine ?" To the king of Jugendheit the ceiling reeled and the floor revolved under his feet.
"Villain, what have you to say?
What was your purpose ?" How many years, thought Herbeck, had he been preparing for this moment?
How long had he been steeling his heart against this very scene?
Futile dream! He drew himself together with a supreme effort.

He would face this hour as he had always planned to face it.