 Chapter 3, Part 2 of THE BRONZ EGLE, by Baroness Orksi This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion-Gynes, Celtic City, Utah. Oh, surely she added with ever-increasing passion, surely God will not permit such an awful thing to happen, surely he will strike the ogre dead ere he devastates France once again. I am afraid that you must not reckon quite so much on divine interference, mademoiselle, a nation like every single individual, must shape its own destiny, and must not look to God to help it in its political aims. And France must look once more to England, I suppose, it is humiliating to be always in need of help, she said with an impatient little sigh. Each nation in its turn has it in its power to help a sister. Sometimes help may come from the weaker vessel. Do you remember the philosopher's fable of the lion and the mouse? France may be the mouse just now. Someday it may be in her power to requite the lion. She shook her head reprovingly. I don't know, she said, that I approve of your calling France, the mouse. I only did so in order to drive my parable still further home. Then as she looked a little puzzled, he continued, speaking very slowly this time, and with an intensity of feeling, which was quite different to his usual pleasant, good-tempered, oft-times flippant manner. Madam Iselle Crystal, if you will allow me to speak of such an insignificant person as I am, I am at present in the position of the mouse with regard to your father and yourself, the lions of my parable. You might so easily have devoured me, you see, he added with a quaint touch of humor. Well, the time may come when you may have need of a friend, just as I had need of one. When I came here, a stranger in a strange land, events will move with great rapidity. In the next few days, Madam Iselle Crystal and the mouse might at any time be in a position to render a service to the lion. Will you remember that? I will try, Missor, she replied, but already her pride was once more up in arms. She did not like his tone, that error of protection which his attitude suggested, and indeed she could not think of any eventuality which would place the comped de Cambrai de Brestelo in serious need of a tradesman for his friend. Then as quickly again her mood softened, and as she raised her eyes to his, he saw that they were full of tears. Indeed, indeed, she said gently, I do deserve your contempt, sir, for my shrewishness and vixenish ways, how can I, how can any of us afford to turn our backs upon a loyal friend, today too, of all days, when that awful enemy is once more at our gates? Oh, she added, clasping her hands together with a sudden gesture of passionate entreaty. You are English, sir, a friend of all those gallant gentlemen who saved my dear father and his family from those awful revolutionaries. You will be loyal to us, will you not? The English hate Bonaparte as much as we do. You hate him too, do you not? You will do all you can to help my poor father through this awful crisis. You will, won't you? She pleaded. Have I not already offered you my humble services, mademoiselle? He rejoined earnestly. Indeed, this was a very serious ordeal for quiet, self-contained Bobby Clifford and Englishman, remember, with all an Englishman's shyness of emotion, all an Englishman's contempt of any display of sentiment. Here was this beautiful girl, whom he loved with all the passionate ardor of his virile, manly temperament, sitting almost at his feet, he looking down upon her fair head, with its wealth of golden curls, and into her blue eyes which were full of tears. Who shall blame him if just then a desperate longing seized him to throw all prudence, all dignity and honor to the winds, and to clasp this exquisite woman for one brief and happy moment in his arms, to forget the world, her position and his, to risk disgrace and betray hospitality for the sake of one kiss upon her lips? The temptation was so fierce. Indeed, for one short second it was all but irresistible, that something of the battle which was raging within his soul became outwardly visible. And in the girl's tear-dimmed eyes there crept a quick look of alarm, so strange, so ununderstandable was his glance, the rigidity of his attitude, as if every muscle had become taut, and every nerve strained to snapping point, while his face looked hard and lined almost as if he were fighting physical pain. Thus a few seconds went by in absolute silence, while the great guilt-clock upon its carved bracket ticked on with stolid relentlessness, marking another minute, and yet another of this hour which was so full of portent for the destinies of France. Clifford would gladly have bartered the future years of his life for the power to stay the hand of time just now, for the power to remain just like this, standing before this beautiful woman whom he loved, feeling that at any moment he could take her in his arms and kiss her eyes and her lips, even if she were unwilling, even if she hated him for ever afterwards. The sense of power to do that which he might regret to the end of his days was infinitely sweet. The power to fight against that all-compelling passion was perhaps sweeter still. Then came the pride of victory. The habits of a lifetime had come to his aid, self-respect and self-control, hard and willful taskmasters fought against passion until it yielded inch by inch. The battle was fought and won in those few moments of silence. The strains of the man's attitude relaxed. The set lines on his face vanished, leaving its serene and quietly humorous, calm and self-deprecatory. Only his voice was not quite so steady as usual, as he said softly. Mademoiselle Crystal, is there anything that I can do for you? Now at once, I mean, if there is, I do entreat you most earnestly to let me serve you. Had the pure soul of the woman been touched by the fringe of that magnetic wave of passion, even as it rose to its utmost height, nearly sweeping the man off his feet, and in its final retreat, leaving him with quivering nerves and senses bruised and numb, did something of the man's suffering of his love and of his despair appear despite his efforts upon his face and in the depth of his glance, and thus made visible did they, even through their compelling intensity, cause that invisible barrier of social prejudices to totter and to break. It were difficult to say, certain it is that Crystal's whole heart warmed to the stranger as it had never warmed before. She felt that here was a man standing before her now, whose promises would never be mere idle words, whose deeds would speak more loudly than his tongue. She felt that in the midst of all the enmity which encompassed her and her father in their newly regained home and land, here at any rate was a friend on whom they could count to help, to counsel, and to accomplish. And deep down in the very bottom of her soul there was a curious unexplainable longing that circumstances should compel her to ask one day for his help and a sweet knowledge that that help would be ably rendered and pleasing to receive. But for the moment, of course, there was nothing that she could ask. She would be married in a couple of days, alas, so soon, and after that it would be to her husband that she must look for devotion, for guidance, and for sympathy. A little sigh of regret escaped her lips, and she said gently, I thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart, for the words of friendship which you have spoken, I shall never forget them, never, and if at any time in my life I am in trouble, which God forbid, he broke in fervently, if any time I have need of a friend, she resumed, I feel that I should find one in you. Oh, if only I could think that you would extend your devotion to my poor country and to our king. She exclaimed with passionate earnestness, you love your country very dearly, mademoiselle. He rejoined, I think that I love France more than anything else in the world, she replied, and I feel that there is no sacrifice which I would deem too great to offer up for her. And by France you mean the Bourbon dynasty, he said almost involuntarily, with an impatient little sigh. I mean the king, by the grace of God, she retorted proudly. She had thrown back her head with an air of challenge as she said this, meeting his glance eye to eye. She looked strong and willful all of a sudden, no longer girlish and submissive. And to the man who loved her, this trait of power and latent heroism added yet another to the many charms which he saw in her, loyal to her country and to her king. She would be loyal in all things to husband, kindred, and to friends, but he realized at the same time how impossible it would be for any man to win her love if he were an enemy to her cause. St. Janus, royalist, emigre, retrograde like herself, had obviously won his way to her heart chiefly by the sympathy of his own convictions. But what of De Marmont, to whom she was on the eve of plighting her trough? De Marmont, the hot-headed bonapartist who owned but one god, Napoleon, and yet had deliberately, and with his cynical opportunism, hidden his fanatical aims and beliefs from the woman whom he had wooed and won. The thought of that deception and of the awakening which would await the girl-wife on the very morrow of her wedding-day mayhem was terribly repellent to Clifford's straightforward, loyal nature, and bitter was the contention within his soul as he found himself at the crossroads of a divided duty. Every instinct of chivalry towards the woman loudly demanded that he should warn her now at once before it was too late, before she had actually pledged her life and future to a man whom her very soul, if she knew the truth, would proclaim a renegade and a traitor. And every instinct of loyalty to the man, that male solidarity of sex which will never permit one man, if he be a gentleman, to betray another, prompted him to hold his peace. Crystal's gentle voice fell like dream-tones upon his ear. Vaguely only did he hear what she said. She was still speaking of France, of all that the country had suffered, and all that was due to her from her sons and daughters. She spoke of the king, God's own anointed, as she called him, endowed with rights divine, and all the while his thoughts were far away, flying on the wings of memory to the little hamlet among the mountains, where two enthusiasts had exhausted every panageric in praise of their own hero, whom this girl called a usurper and a brigand. He remembered every trait in De Marmont's face, every inflection of his voice, as he said with almost cruel cynicism, she will learn to love me in time. That Clifford knew now, Crystal de Cambre would never do. Indifferent to De Marmont today, she would hate and loathe him, the day that she discovered how infamously he had deceived her. And to Clifford's passionate temperament, the thought of Crystal's future unhappiness was absolutely intolerable. Here indeed was a battle far more strenuous and difficult of issue than that of a man's will against his passions. Here was a problem far more difficult to solve than any that had assailed Bobby Clifford throughout his life. His heart cried out, she must know the truth, she must, today, this minute, while there was yet time. Anon, she will be pledged irrevocably to a man who has lied to her, whom she will curse as a renegade, a traitor, false to his country, false to his king. And the words hovered on his lips, Madame Iselle Crystal, do not plight your troth to De Marmont, he is no friend of yours, his people are not your people. His God is not your God, and there is neither blessing nor holiness in a union twixed you and him. But the words remained unspoken, because the unwritten code, the bond twixed man and man, tried to still this natural cry of his heart, and reason argued that he must hold his peace. His heart rebelled, contending that to remain silent was cowardly, that his first duty was to the woman whom he loved better than his soul, whilst ingrained principles, born and bred in the bone of him, threw themselves into the conflict, warning him that if he spoke he would be no better than an informer, meriting the contempt alike of those whom he wished to help, and of the man whom he would betray. It was one sound coming from below which settled the dispute, twixed heart, and reason. The sound of De Marmont's voice, which, though he was apparently speaking of in different matters, had that same triumphant ring in it which Clifford had heard at Notre Dame de Vaux this morning. The sound had caused Crystal to give a quick gasp, and to clasp her hands against her breast, as she said with a nervous little laugh. Imagine how happy we are to have Missour De Marmont's support in this terrible crisis. His influence in Grenoble and in the whole province is very great. His word in the town itself may incline the whole balance of public feeling on the side of the king, and, who knows, it may even help to strengthen the loyalty of the troops. Oh, that Corsican-brigand little guesses what kind of welcome we in the Dauphine are preparing for him. Her enthusiasm, her trust, her loyalty ended the conflict in Clifford's mind far more effectually than any sober reasoning could have done. He realized in a moment that neither abstract principles nor his own feelings in the matter were of the slightest account at such a juncture. What was obvious, certain and not to be shirked, was duty to a woman who was on the point of being shamefully deceived, also duty to the man whose hospitality he had enjoyed. To remain silent would be cowardly. Of that he became absolutely certain, and once Bobby had made up his mind what duty was no power on earth could make him swerve from its fulfillment. Mademoiselle Crystal, he began slowly and deliberately, just now, when I was bold enough to offer you my friendship, you deigned to accept it, did you not? Indeed I did, sir. She replied a little astonished. Why should you ask? Because the time has come sooner than I expected for me to prove the truth of that offer to you. There is something which I must say to you, which no one but a friend ought to do. May I? But before she could frame the little yes, which already trembled on her lips, her father's voice, and de Marmont's, rang out from the further end of the room itself. The folding doors had been thrown open. Messor Lecomte and his son-in-law-elect were on the point of entering and had paused for a moment just under the lintel. De Marmont was talking in a loud voice and apparently in response to something which Messor Lecomte had just told him. Ah, he said, Madame Laduchess will be leaving Breastelot. I am sorry to hear that. Why should she go so soon? An affair of business, my dear De Marmont, replied Lecomte. I will tell you about it at an early opportunity. After which there was a hubbub of talk in the corridors outside the sound of greetings, the pleasing confusion of questions and answers which marks the simultaneous arrival of several guests. Crystal rose and turned to Bobby with a smile. You will have to tell me some other time. She said lightly, don't forget. The psychological moment had gone by and Clifford cursed himself for having fought too long against the promptings of his heart and lost the precious moments which might have changed the whole of Crystal's future. He cursed himself for not having spoken sooner, now that he saw De Marmont with glowing eyes and ill-concealed triumph approach his beautiful fiancé and with the air of a conqueror raise her hand to his lips. She looked very pale, and to the man who loved her so ardently and so hopelessly, it seemed as if she gave a curious little shiver, and that for one brief second her blue eyes flashed a pathetic look of appeal up to his. Messur Le Comte's guests followed closely on the triumphant bridegroom's heels. Messur Le Prefet, fussy and nervous, secretly delighted at the idea of affixing his official signature to such an aristocratic contract de marriage as was this between Mme. De Cambray, de Brestelo, and Messur Victor de Marmont, own nephew to Marshal, the Duke de Raguse, Madame Le Prefet, resplendent in the latest fashion from Paris, the Duke and Duchess de Ambrin, cousins of the bride, the vicomte de Genovois and his mother, who was abyss of Pont Hott, and godmother by proxy to Crystal de Cambray, whilst General Marchand, in command of the troops of the district, fresh from the Council of War, which he had hastily convened, was trying to hide behind a debonair manner all the anxiety which the brigands march on Grenoble was causing him. The chief notabilities of the province had assembled to do honour to the occasion. Later on, others would come, lesser lights by birth and position, than this select crowd who would partake of the super des fiancales before the contract was signed in their presence as witnesses to the transaction. Everyone was talking volubly. The ogre's progress through France, no longer to be denied, was the chief subject of conversation. Some spoke of it with contempt, others with terror. The ex-bonapartis, Fourier and Marchand, were loudest in their curses against the usurper. Clifford, silent and keeping somewhat aloof from the brilliant throng, saw that de Marmont did not enter into any of these conversations. He kept resolutely close to Crystal, and spoke to her from time to time in a whisper, and always with that assured air of the conqueror, which graded so unpleasantly on Clifford's irritable nerves. The calmed, affable and gracious spoke a few words to each of his guests in turn, while Madame Laduchess, Douarier, Dagen, was talking openly of her forthcoming return journey to the north. I came in great haste, she said loudly, to the circle of ladies gathered around her for my little Crystal's wedding, but I was in the middle of a Lenten retreat at the Sacred Heart, and I only received permission from my confessor to spend three days in all this gaiety. When do you leave us again, Madame Laduchess, queried Mademoiselle Marchand, the general's daughter, in a honeyed voice. On Tuesday, directly after the religious ceremony, Mademoiselle replied Madame, whilst Massor Le Prefet tried to look unconcerned. He had brought the money over as Madame Laduchess had directed. Twenty-five millions of francs in notes and drafts had been transferred from the cellar of the Hotel de Ville to his own pockets first, and then into the keeping of Madame. He had driven over from the Hotel de Ville in his private coach. He himself, in an agony of fear, every time the road looked lonely, or he heard the sound of horses hooves upon the road behind him, for there might be mounted highwaymen about. Now he felt infinitely relieved. He had shifted all responsibility of that vast sum of money on two more exalted shoulders than his own, and inwardly he was marveling how coolly Madame Laduchess seemed to be taking such an awful responsibility. Now Hector threw open the great doors and announced that Massor Le Comte was served through the vast corridor beyond, appeared a vista of liveried servants in purple and canary, wearing powdered peruque, silk stockings, and buckled shoes. There was a general hubbub in the room. The men moved towards the ladies who had been assigned to them for partners. Massor Le Comte, in his grandest manner, approached Madame Laduchess de Embrun in order to conduct her down to supper. An air of majestic grandeur, of solemnity, and splendid decorum pervaded the fine apartment. It sought out every corner of the vast reception room, flickered round every wax candle. It spread itself over the monumental hearth, the stiff, brocade-covered chairs, the gilt consoles, and tall mirrors. It emanated alike from the graciousness of Massor Le Comte de Cambre and the pompousness of his major domo. Hector, in fact, appeared at this moment as the High Priest in a temple of good manners and bontane. The muscles of his face were rigid. His mouth was set as if ready to pronounce sacrificial words. In his right hand he carried a gold-headed wand, emblem of his high office. But suddenly there was a disturbance, and unseemly noise came from the further end of the corridor, where rose the magnificent staircase. Hector's face became a study in rapidly changing expressions, from pompousness to astonishment, then horror, and finally wrath, when he realized that an intruder in stained cloth clothes and booted and spurred was actually making his way through the ranks of liveried and gaping servants and loudly demanding to speak with Massor Le Comte. Such an unseemly disturbance had not occurred at the Chateau de Brestelo, since Hector had been installed there as Major Domo nearly twelve months ago, and he was on the point of literally throwing himself upon the impious Malapert, and thus dared to thrust his ill-clad person upon the brilliant company when he paused, more aghast than before. In this same impious Malapert he had recognized Massor Le Marquis de St. Janus. The young man looked to be laboring under terrible excitement, his face was flushed, and he was panting, as if he had been running hard. Massor Le Comte, he cried breathlessly as soon as he caught sight of Hector, tell Massor Le Comte that I must speak with him at once, but Massor Le Marquis, that was all that poor bewildered Hector could stammer. His slowly moving brain was torn between the duties of his position and his respect for Massor Le Marquis, and in the struggle the worthy man was enduring throes of anxiety. Fortunately, Massor Le Comte himself put an end to Hector's dilemma. He had recognized St. Janus' voice. Unlike his major domo, he knew at once that something terribly grave must have happened, else the young man would never have committed such a serious breach of good manners. And Massor Le Comte himself was never at a loss how to turn any situation to a dignified and proper issue. He murmured a quick and courteous apology to Madame Le Duchess de Embrun and a comprehensive one to all his guests, then he hastened to meet St. Janus at the door. Already St. Janus had entered. His rough clothes and muddy boots looked strangely in contrast to the immaculate get-up of the Comte's guests, but of this he hardly seemed to be aware. His face was flushed. With his right hand he clutched a small writing cane, and his glowering dark eyes swept a rapid glance over everyone in the room. And to the Comte he said hoarsely, I must offer you my humblest apologies, my dear Comte, for obtruding my very untidy person upon you at this hour. I have walked all the way from Grenoble as I could not get a hackney coach, else I had been here earlier and spared you this unpleasantness. You are always welcome in this house, my good Maurice, said the Comte in his loftiest manner, and at any hour of the day. And he added with a certain tone of dignified reproach. I did ask you to be my guest tonight, if you remember. And I, said St. Janus, was churlish enough to refuse. I would not have come now, only that I felt I might be in time to avert the most awful catastrophe that has yet fallen upon your house. Again his restless dark eyes, sullen and wrathful, and charged with a look of rage and of hate, wandered over the assembled company. The look frightened the ladies. They took to clinging to one another, standing in compact, little groups together, like frightened birds, watchful and wide-eyed. They feared that the young man was mad, but the man exchanged significant glances and significant smiles. They merely thought that St. Janus had been drinking, or that jealousy had half turned his brain. Only Clifford, who stood somewhat apart from the others, knew by some unexplainable intuition what it was that had brought Maurice Day St. Janus to this house in this excited state and at this hour. He felt excited too, and mightily thankful that the catastrophe would be brought about by others, not by himself. But all his thoughts were for crystal and an instinctive desire to stand by her and to shield her, if necessary, from some unknown or unguessed evil, made him draw nearer to her. He stood on the fringe of the little crowd, as isolated as Bobby was himself. De Marmont, whose face had become the color of dead ashes, had left her side. One step at a time, and very slowly, he was getting nearer and nearer to St. Janus, as if the ladders' wrath-filled eyes were drawing him against his will. At the young man's ominous words, Missour Lacompte's sunken cheeks grew a shade more pale. What catastrophe, Mondeux, he exclaimed, could fall on my house that would be worse than twenty years of exile. An alliance with a traitor, Missour Lacompte said St. Janus firmly. A gasp went round the room, a sigh, a cry. The women looked in mute horror from one man to the other. The men already had their right hand on their swords, but Clifford's eyes were fixed upon crystal. Who pale, silent, rigid as a marble statue, with lips parted, and nostrils quivering, stood not five paces away from him. Her dilated eyes, wandering ceaselessly from the face of St. Janus to that of De Marmont, and thence to that of her father. But beyond that look of tense excitement, she revealed nothing of what she thought and felt. Already De Marmont, his hand upon his sword, had advanced menacingly toward St. Janus. Missour Lamarquis, he said between set teeth, you will, by God, eat those words, or eat my words, man, retorted St. Janus, with a harsh laugh, by heaven. Have I not come here on purpose to throw my words into your lying face? There was a brief, but violent skirmish, for De Marmont had made a movement, as if he meant to spring at his rival's throat. And General Marchand and the vicomte de Genovois, who happened to be near, had much adieu to seize and hold him, even so they could not stop the hoarse cries which he uttered. Liar, liar, liar, let me go, let me get to him, I must kill him, I must kill him. The compt interposed his dignified person between the two men. Maurice, he said in tones of calm and dispassionate reproof, your conduct is absolutely unjustifiable. You seem to forget that you are in the presence of ladies and of my guests. If you had a quarrel with Missour de Marmont, a quarrel, my dear compt, exclaimed St. Janus, nay, tis no quarrel I have with him, and my conduct would have been a thousand times more vile if I had not come to-night and stopped his hand from touching that of mademoiselle crystal de Cambrai, his hand which was engaged less than two hours ago in affixing to the public buildings of Grenoble the infamous message of the Corsican Brigand to the army and the people of France. A hoarse murmur, a sure sign that men or women are afraid, came from every corner of the room. The message, what message? Some people turned instinctively to Missour, lay prophet, others to General Marchand. Everyone knew that Bonaparte had landed on the literal. Everyone had heard the rumour that he was marching in triumph through Provence and the Dauphin. But no one had altogether believed this as for a message, a proclamation, a call to the army, and this in Grenoble itself. No one had heard of that. Everyone had been at home, getting dressed for this festive function, thinking of good suppers and of wedding bells. It was as if, after a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, the house was found to be in flames. Missour, lay prophet, in answer to these mute queries, had shrugged his shoulders, and General Marchand looked grim and silent. But Saint Genus, with arm uplifted and shaking hand, pointed a finger at De Marmont. Ask him, he cried, ask him, my dear Comte, ask the miserable traitor, who, with lies and damnable treachery, has stolen his way into your house, has stolen your regard, your hospitality, and was on the point of stealing your most precious treasure, your daughter. Ask him, he knows every word of that infamous message by heart. I doubt not, but a copy of it is inside his coat now. Ask him, General Mouton Douveret met him outside Grenoble in company with that cur emory, and I saw him, with my own eyes, distributing these hellish papers among our townspeople and pinning them up at the street corners of our city. While Saint Genus was speaking, or rather screaming, for his voice pitched high, seemed to fill the entire room, every glance was fixed upon De Marmont. Everyone, of course, expected a contradiction, as hot and intemperate as was the accusation. It was unthinkable, impossible, that what Saint Genus said could be true. They all knew De Marmont well, nephew of the Duke de Raguse, who had borne the lion's share in surrendering Paris to the Allies, and bringing about the downfall of the Corsican usurper. He was one of the most trusted members of the royalist set in Daphine. They had talked quite freely before him, consulted with him, when local bonapartism appeared uncomfortably rampant. De Marmont was one of themselves, and yet he said nothing, even now, when Saint Genus accused him and hurled insult upon insult at him. He said nothing to refute the awful impeachment, to justify his conduct, to explain his companionship with Emery. His face was still livid, but it was with rage, not indignation. Marchand and Genovois still held him by the arms, else he and Saint Genus would have been at one another's throat before now. But his gestures, as he struggled to free himself, the implications which he uttered, were those of a man who was baffled and found out, not of one who is innocent. But as Saint Genus continued to speak, and worked himself up every moment into a still greater state of excitement, De Marmont gradually seemed to calm down. He ceased to curse, he ceased to struggle, and on his face, which still was livid, there gradually crept a look of determination and of defiance. He dug his teeth into his underlip until tiny drops of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and trickled slowly down his chin. Marchand and Genovois relaxed the grip upon his arms since he no longer fought, and thus released he contrived to pull himself together. He tossed back his head and looked his infuriated accuser boldly in the face. By the time Saint Genus paused in his impassioned denunciation, he had himself completely under control. Only his eyes appeared to glow with an unnatural fire, and little beads of moisture appeared upon his brow and matted the dark hair against his forehead. The comp de Cambre at this juncture would certainly have interposed with one of those temperate speeches full of dignity and brimming over with lofty sentiments which he knew so well how to deliver. But De Marmont gave him no time to begin. When Saint Genus paused for breath, he suddenly freed himself completely with a quick movement from Marchand's and Genovois's hold, and then he turned to the comp and to the rest of the company. And what if I did pin the emperor's proclamation on the walls of Grenoble? He said proudly, and with a tremor of enthusiasm in his voice, the emperor whom treachery more vile than any since the days of the Ascariot sent into humiliation and exile. The emperor has come back, cried the young devotee, with that extraordinary fervor which Napoleon alone, of all men that have ever walked upon this earth, was able to secitate his imperial eagles once more sore over France, carrying on their wings her honor and glory to the outermost corners of Europe. His proclamation is to his people who have always loved him, to his soldiers who in their hearts have always been true to him. His proclamation, he added as with a kind of exultant war cry, he drew a roll of paper from his pocket and held it out at arm's length above his head. His proclamation, here it is, Viva l'Empereur by the grace of God, who shall attempt to describe the feelings of all those who were assembled round this young enthusiast as he hurled his challenge right in the face of those who called him a liar and a traitor. Surely it were a hard task for the chronicler to search into the minds and hearts of this score of men and women, who worshipped one God and reverenced one King, at the moment when they saw that King threatened upon his throne, their faith mocked and their God blasphemed, that the young man spoke words of truth no one thought of denying. Napoleon's name had the power to strike terror in the heart of every citizen who desired peace above all things and of every royalist who wished to see King Louis in possession of the throne of his fathers. But the army which had fought under him, the army which he had led in triumph and to victory from one end of the continent of Europe to the other, that army still loved him and had never been rightly loyal to King Louis. The horrors of war which had lain so heavily over France and over Europe for the past twenty years were painfully vivid still in everybody's mind and all these horrors were intimately associated with the name which stood out now in bold characters on the paper which de Marmont was triumphantly waving. Missour Lecompt had become a shade or two paler than he had been before. He looked very old, very care-worn all of a sudden, and his pale eyes had that look in them which comes into the eyes of the old after years of sorrow and of regret. But never for a moment did he depart from his attitude of dignity. When de Marmont's exultant cry of Viva l'Empereur had ceased to echo round the majestic walls of this stately chateau, he straightened out his spare figure and with one fine gesture begged for silence from his guests. Then he said very quietly, Missour Marmont, this is neither the place nor the opportunity which I should have chosen for confronting you with all the lies which you have told in the past ten months ever since you entered my house as an honored guest. But Missour de Saint-Jeanus has left me no option. Burning with indignation at your treachery, he came hot foot to unmask you, before my daughter's fair hand had affixed her own honorable name beneath that of a cheat and a traitor. Yes, Missour de Marmont, he reiterated, with virile force, breaking in on the hot protests which had risen to the young man's lips. No one but a cheat and a traitor could thus have wormed himself into the confidence of an old man and of a young girl. No one but a villainous blackguard could have contemplated the abominable deceptions which you have planned against me and against my daughter. For a moment or two after the old man had finished speaking, Victor de Marmont remained silent. There were murmurs of indignation among the guests. Also, of approval of the comp's energetic words, de Marmont was in the midst of a hostile crowd, and he knew it. Here was no drawing-room quarrel which could be settled at the point of a sword. Though as fate and man so oft ordain it, a woman was the primary reason for the quarrel, she was not its cause. And the hostility expressed against him by every glance which de Marmont encountered was so general and so great that it overawed him even in the midst of his enthusiasm. Missour Lecomte, he said at last, and he made a great effort to appear indifferent and unconcerned. I wish for your daughter's sake that Missour de Saint-Jeanus had chosen some other time to make this fracas. We who have learned chivalry at the Emperor's school would have hit our enemy when he was in a position to defend himself. This, obviously, I cannot do at this moment without trespassing still further upon your hospitality and causing mademoiselle Crystal still more pain. I might even make a direct appeal to her, since the decision in this matter rests, I imagine, primarily with her. But with the Emperor at our gates, with the influence of his power and of his pride dominating my every thought, I will, with your gracious permission, relieve you of my unwelcome presence without taking another leaf out of Missour de Jeanus' book. As you will, Missour said the Comte stiffly. De Marmont bowed quite ceremoniously to him, and the Comte, courtly and correct to the last, returned his salute with equal ceremony. Then the young man turned to Crystal. For the first time, perhaps, since the terrible fracas had begun, he realized what it all must mean to her. She did not try to evade his look or to turn away from him. On the contrary, she looked him straight in the face and watched him while he approached her without retreating one single step. But she watched him just as one would watch and abject and revolting cur. That was too vile and too mean even to merit a kick. Crystal's blue eyes were always expressive, but they had never been so expressive as they were just then. De Marmont met her glance squarely, and he read in it everything that she meant to convey. Her contempt, her loathing, her hatred, but above all her contempt, so overwhelming, so complete was this contempt that it made him wince as if he had been struck in the face with a whip. He stood still, for he knew that she would never allow him to kiss her hand in farewell, and he had had enough of insults. He knew that he could not bear that final one. A red mist suddenly gathered before his eyes a mad desire to strike, to wound or to kill, and with it a wave of passion he called it love, for this woman, such as he had never felt for her before. He gave her back with a glance, hatred for hatred, but whereas her hatred for him was smothered in contempt, his for her was leavened with a fierce and dominant passion. All this had taken but a few seconds in accomplishment. Missour Lacombe had not done more than give a sign to Hector to see Missour de Marmont safely out of the castle, and Maurice de Saint-Jeanus had only had time to think of interposing if de Marmont tried to take Crystal's hand. Only a few seconds, but a lifetime of emotion was crammed into them. Then de Marmont, with Crystal's look of loathing, still eating into his soul, caught sight of Clifford, who stood close by. Clifford, whose one thought throughout all this unhappy scene had been of Crystal, who, through it all, had eyes and ears only for her. Some kind of instinct made the young girl look up to him just then, probably only in response to a wave of memory which brought back to her, at that very moment, the words of devotion and offer of service which he had spoken a while ago, or it may have been that same sense which had told her at the time that here was a man whom she could always trust, that he would always prove a friend as he had promised, and the look which she gave him was one of simple confidence. But de Marmont just happened to intercept that look. He had never been jealous of Clifford, of course. Clifford, the foreigner, the bourgeois tradesman, never could, under any circumstances, be a rival to reckon with at any other time he would have laughed at the idea of mademoiselle Crystal de Cambry bestowing the slightest favor upon the Englishman. But within the last few seconds everything had become different. Victor de Marmont, the triumphant and wealthy suitor of mademoiselle de Cambry, had become a pariah among all these ladies and gentlemen, and he had become a man scorned by the woman whom he had wooed and thought to win so easily. The fierce love engendered for Crystal in his turbulent heart by all the hatred and all the scorn which she lavished upon him brought an unreasoning jealousy into being. He felt suddenly that he detested Clifford. He remembered Clifford's nationality and its avowed hatred of the hero whom he, de Marmont, worshipped, and he realized also that that same hatred must of necessity be a bond between the Englishman and Crystal de Cambry. Therefore, though this new untamed jealousy seized hold of him with extraordinary power, though it brought that ominous red film before his eyes which makes a man strike out blindly and stupidly against his rival, it also suggested to de Marmont a far simpler and far more efficacious way of ridding himself once for all of any fear of rivalry from Clifford. When he had bowed quite formally to Crystal, he looked up at Bobby and gave him a pleasant and friendly nod. I suppose you will be coming with me, my good Clifford, he said lightly. We are rowing in the same boat, you and I. We were a very happy party, were we not? You and Emery and I, when General Mouton met us outside Grenoble, for we had just heard the glorious news that the Emperor is marching triumphantly through France. Then he turned once more to St. Janus. Did not, he said, the General's aid to camp, tell you that, Missour de St. Janus? St. Janus had, during these few seconds, while de Marmont held the center of the stage, succeeded in controlling his excitement at any rate outwardly. He was so absolutely master of the situation and had put his successful rival so completely to route that the sense of satisfaction helped to soothe his nerves, and when de Marmont spoke directly to him, he was able to reply with comparative calm. Had you, he said to de Marmont, attempted to deny the accusation which I have brought against you, I was ready to confront you with the report which General Mouton's aid to camp brought into the town. I had no intention of denying my loyalty to the Emperor rejoined de Marmont, but I would like to know what report General Mouton's aid to camp brought into Grenoble. The worthy General did not belie his name, I assure you, he looked mightily scared when he recognized Emery. He was alone with his aid to camp and in his coach, retorted St. Janus, whilst that traitor Emery, you and your friend Mr. Clifford, were on horseback, you gave him the slip easily enough. That's true, of course, said de Marmont simply. Well, shall we go, my dear Clifford? He had accomplished the purpose of his jealousy even more effectually than he could have wished. He looked round and saw that everyone had thrown a casual glance of contempt upon Clifford, and then turned away to murmur with scornful indifference. I always mistrusted that man, or the comp'd ought never to have had the fellow in the house, while the words English spy and informer were on every lip. But Clifford had made no movement during this brief colloquy. He saw, just as de Marmont did, that everyone was listening more with indifference than with horror. He, the stranger, was of so little consequence, after all, a tradesman and an Englishman, what mattered, what his political convictions were. De Marmont was an object of hatred, but he, Clifford, was only one of contempt. He heard the muttered words, English spy, informer, and others of still more overwhelming disdain. But he cared little what these people said. He knew that they would never trouble to hear any justification from himself. They would not worry their heads about him a moment longer once he had left the house in company with de Marmont. He was not quite sure, either, whether de Marmont's spite had been directed against himself personally, or that it was merely the outcome of his present humiliating position. Messor Lacombe had not bestowed more than a glance upon him, and that from under haughtily raised brows, and across half the width of the room. But Crystal had looked up to him, and was still looking, and it was that look which had driven all the blood from Clifford's face and caused his lips to set closely, as if with a sense of physical pain. The insults which her father's guests were overtly murmuring, she had in her mind, and her eyes were conveying them to him far more plainly than her lips could have done. English spy, traitor to friendship and to trust, liar, deceiver, hypocrite, that and more did her scornful glance imply. But she said nothing. He tried to plead with eyes as expressive as were her own, and she merely turned away from him, just as if he no longer existed. She drew her skirt closer round her, and somehow, with that gesture, she seemed to sweep him entirely out of her existence. Even Madame Laduchess had not one glance for him. To these passionate, hot-headed, impulsive, royalists, and adherent of the Corsican ogre was lower than the scum of the earth. They loathed De Marmont because he had been one of themselves. He was a traitor, and not one man there but would have liked to see him put up against a wall and summarily shot. But the stranger they wiped out of their lives. Was there any chance for Clifford, if he tried to defend himself? None of a certainty. He could not call the accusation a lie, since he had been in the company of Emery and of De Marmont most of the day, and mere explanations would have fallen on deaf and unwilling ears. Clifford knew this, nor did he attempt any explanation. There is a certain pride in the heart of every English gentleman, which in moments of acute crisis rises to its full power and height. That pride would not allow Clifford to utter a single word in his own defense. The futility of attempting it also influenced his decision. He scorned the idea of speaking on his own behalf, words which were doomed to be disbelieved. In a moment he had found himself absolutely isolated in the center of the room, not far from the hearth where he had stood a little while ago talking to Crystal, and close to the chair where she had sat with the light of the fire playing upon her satin gown. The cushion still bore the impress of her young figure as she had leaned up against them. The sight of it was an additional pain which almost made Clifford wince. He bowed silently and very low to Crystal and to Madame Laduchess, and then to all the ladies and gentlemen who cold-shouldered him with such contemptuous ostentation. De Marmont, with head erect and an air of swagger, was already waiting for him at the door. Clifford, in taking leave of Messor Lacombe, made a violent effort to say at any rate the one word which weighed upon his heart. Will you at least permit me, Messor Lacombe, he said, to thank you for. But already Lacombe had interrupted him, even before the words were clearly out of his mouth. I will not permit you, sir, he broke in firmly, to speak a single word other than a plain denial of Messor de St. Genesis accusations against you. Then, as Clifford relapsed into silence, Messor Lacombe continued with haughty peremptoriness. A plain yes or no will suffice, sir. Were you or were you not in the company of those traitors, Emery and De Marmont, when General Mouton Duvernet had come upon them outside Grenoble? I was, replied Clifford simply. With a stiff nod of the head, the comp turned his back abruptly upon him. No one took any further notice of the English spy. The accused had been condemned without inquiry and without trial. In times like these, all one's friends must be above suspicion. Clifford knew that there was nothing to be said. With a quickly suppressed sigh, he too turned away, and in his habitual English dogged way he resolutely set his teeth and with a firm, soldierly step walked quietly out of the room. Hector, see that Messor de Marmont's coach is ready for him, said Messor Lacombe, with well assumed indifference, and that supper is no longer delayed. He then once more offered his arm to Madame Laduchess de Embron. Madame Laduchess, he said in his most courtly manner, I beg that you will accept my apologies for this unforeseen interruption. May I have the honor of conducting you to supper?