her eyes first fall, is instantly smitten self-conscious. His
color deepens: he becomes stiffer and less at ease than before.
She perceives this instantly, and, not to embarrass him, turns in
an infinitely well bred manner to pay the respect of a glance to
the other gentleman, who is staring at her dress, as at the
earth's final masterpiece of treacherous dissimulation, with
feelings altogether inexpressible and indescribable. As she looks
at him, she becomes deadly pale. There is no mistaking her
expression: a revelation of some fatal error utterly unexpected,
has suddenly appalled her in the midst of tranquillity, security
and victory. The next moment a wave of color rushes up from
beneath the creamy fichu and drowns her whole face. One can see
that she is blushing all over her body. Even the lieutenant,
ordinarily incapable of observation, and just now lost in the
tumult of his wrath, can see a thing when it is painted red for
him. Interpreting the blush as the involuntary confession of
black deceit confronted with its victim, he points to it with a
loud crow of retributive triumph, and then, seizing her by the
wrist, pulls her past him into the room as he claps the door to,
and plants himself with his back to it.)

LIEUTENANT. So I've got you, my lad. So you've disguised
yourself, have you? (In a voice of thunder.) Take off that skirt.

GIUSEPPE (remonstrating). Oh, lieutenant!

LADY (affrighted, but highly indignant at his having dared to
touch her). Gentlemen: I appeal to you. Giuseppe. (Making a
movement as if to run to Giuseppe.)