 CHAPTER V. OF THE BRONZ EGLE by Baroness Orksey. The weather did not improve as the night wore on. Soon a thin, cold drizzle added to the dreariness and to Maurice de St. Genesis ever-growing discomfort. He had started off gaily enough, cheered by crystal's warm look of encouragement, and comforted by the feeling of certainty that he would get even with that mysterious enemy who had so impudently thrown himself a thwart a plan which had service of the king for its sole object. Maurice had not exchanged confidences with crystal since the adventure, but his ideas, without his knowing it, absolutely coincided with hers. He too was quite sure that no common footpad had engineered their daring attack. Positive knowledge of the money and its destination had been the fountain from which had sprung the comedy of the masked highwaymen and his little band of robbers. Maurice mentally reckoned that there must have been at least half a dozen of these bravos of the sort that in these times were easily enough hired in any big city to play any part from that of armed escort to nervous travelers to that of seeker of secret information for the benefit of either political party, loafers that hung round the wine shops in search of a means of earning a few days rations, discharged soldiers of the empire, some of them, whose loyalty to the restoration had been questioned from the first. Maurice had no doubt that whatever motive had actuated the originator of the bold plan to possess himself of twenty-five million francs he had deliberately set to work to employ men of that type to help him in his task. It had all been very audacious and Maurice was bound to admit very well carried out as for the motive he was never for a moment in doubt. It was a bonapartist plot of that he felt sure as well as of the fact that Victor de Marmont was the originator of it all. He probably had not taken any active part in the attack, but he had employed the men. Maurice would have taken an oath on that. The comp de Cambrai must have let fall and unguarded hint in the course of his last interview with de Marmont at Bristolow, and when Victor went away disgraced and discomfited he no doubt thought to take his revenge in the way most calculated to injure both the comp and the royalist cause. Satisfied with this mental explanation of past events St. Janus had ridden on in the darkness his spirits kept up with hopes and thoughts of a glaring counter-revenge, but his limbs were still stiff and bruised from the cramped position in which he had lain for so long, and presently when the cold drizzle began to penetrate to his bones his enthusiasm and confidence dwindled. The village seemed to recede further and further into the distance. He thought when he had ridden through it earlier in the evening that it was not very far from the scene of the attack, a dozen kilometers perhaps, now it seemed more like thirty. He thought too that it was a village of some considerable size, five hundred souls or perhaps more. He had noticed, as he rode through it, a well illuminated, one storied house, and the words debit divins and chambres poor voyageurs, painted in bold characters above the front door. But now he had ridden on and on along the dark road for what seemed endless hours, unconscious of time, save that it was dragging on leaden-footed and wearisome, and still no light on ahead to betray the presence of human habitations, no distant church bells to mark the progress of the night. At last, in desperation, Maurice de St. Genes had thought of wrapping himself in his cloak and getting what rest he could by the roadside, for he was getting very tired and saddle sore. When on his left he perceived in the far distance glimmering through the mist two small lights, like bright eyes shining in the darkness, what kind of a way led up to those welcome lights Maurice had, of course, no idea. But they proclaimed at any rate the presence of human beings, of a house, of the warmth of fire, and without hesitation the young man turned his horse's head at right angles from the road. He had crossed a couple of plowed fields and an intervening ditch, when in the distance to his right and behind him he heard the sound of horses at a brisk trot going in the direction of lions. Maurice drew rain for a moment and listened until the sound came nearer. There must have been at least a score of mounted men, a military patrol sent out by Messor Lecomte d'Artois, no doubt, and now on its way back to lions. Just for a second or two the young man had thoughts of joining up with the party and asking their help or their escort. He even gave a vigorous shout, which, however, was lost in the clang and clatter of horses hooves and of the accompanying jingle of metal. He turned his horse back the way he had come. But before he had recrossed one of the plowed fields, the troop of mounted men, whatever they were, had passed by. And Maurice was left once more in solitude, shouting and calling in vain. There was nothing for it then but to turn back again and to make his way as best he could toward those inviting lights. In any case, nothing could have been done in this pitch dark night against the highway thieves, and St. Genesis had no fear that Messor Lecomte d'Artois would fail to send him help for his expedition against them on the morrow. The lights on ahead were getting perceptibly nearer. Soon they detached themselves still more clearly in the gloom. Other lights appeared in the immediate neighborhood, too few for a village, thought Maurice, and grouped closely together, suggesting a main building surrounded by other smaller ones close by. Soon the whole outline of the house could be traced through the enveloping darkness, two of the windows were lighted from within. And an oil lamp, flickering feebly, was fixed in a recess just above the door. The welcome words, chambres, poor voyageurs, arresteed, briote, propriotaire, greeted Maurice's wearied eyes as he drew rain. Good luck was apparently attending him for thus picking his way across fields. He had evidently struck an out-of-the-way hostelry on some bridal path off the main road, which was probably a shortcut between Shamborey and Vienne. Be that as it may, he managed to dismount stiff as he was, and having tried the door and found it fastened, he hammered against it with his boot. A few moments later the bolts were drawn, and an elderly man in blue blouse and wide trousers, his sabbots stuffed with straw, came shuffling out of the door. Who's there? he called in a feeble, querulous voice. A traveller on horseback replied Maurice, Come, petty pair, he added more impatiently. Will you take my horse or call to one of your men? It is too late to take in travellers, muttered the old man. It is nearly midnight, and everyone is a bed except me. Too late, more blue, exclaimed the young man, peremptorily, you surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. How far is it to the nearest village? It is very late, reiterated the old man, plaintively, and my house is quite full. There's a shakedown in the kitchen anyway, a warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse, retorted Maurice. As without more ado, he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand, and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes, the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphine, took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up, clearly now, by the light from within, satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling, moreover, that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning. The man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away, somewhere out into the darkness. Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smoldering log into a blaze. Then he drew a chair close to the fire, and held his nom'd feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabbats outside the door was a pleasing sound. A moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. Well now, Père Briott, said Maurice cheerily, as I take it, you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss. What about supper? Bread and cheese, if you like, muttered the man curtly. And a bottle of wine, of course. Yes, a bottle of wine. Well, be quick about it, petty Père. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese. Would you like some cold meat, queried the man indifferently? Of course I should. Have I not said that I was hungry? You'll pay for it, all right, enough. I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it, rejoined Maurice impatiently. But in heaven's name, hurry up, man, I am half dead with sleep, as well as with hunger. The old man, a real peasant of the Dauphine, in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution, once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genus lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his weary thoughts into a happy daydream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy, arrested Briott, was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genus had readily tendered him. You said your house was full, Paddy Pierre, said Maurice, after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. I shouldn't have thought there were many travelers in this out-of-the-way place. The place is not out-of-the-way, retorted the old man gruffly. The road is a good one, and a shortcut between Vienne and Chamboree. We get plenty of travelers this way. Well, I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance, and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you. That's just what those other cavaliers said when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go. St. Genus at once put down his knife and fork. A noisy crowd of travelers, he exclaimed, who arrived here an hour ago. Parbleau rejoined the other, and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travelers. I sent them on to Lavasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom. A wounded man? You have a wounded man here? Petit Pierre? Oh, it's not much of a wound. Explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. He himself calls it a mere scratch, but my old woman took a fancy to him. He is young, and while looking you understand she is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son. Mechanically St. Genus had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these daffine peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of arrested briot. Noisy cavaliers, he mused to himself a wounded man, wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambry. Indeed St. Genus had much adieu to keep his excitement in check and to continue with a pretence at eating while briot watched him with stolid indifference. Petit Pierre said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. I have been thinking that you have unwittingly given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons today, and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the king and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish, either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsicans pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, Petit Pierre, he concluded as he rose from the table, by your leave I'll go up and ascertain. While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de Saint-Jeanus kept a sharp watch on arrested Briott's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briott, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking, he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table, I thought you said that you were hungry. So I was, Petit Pierre rejoined Maurice impatiently. So I was, but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel, I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care. Oh, he is well enough, grunted Briott, and you can see him in the morning. That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn, and I could not get a wink of sleep, whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend. But you can't go and wake him now, he is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him. St. Janus, fretting with impatience, could have cursed, allowed, or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. I shouldn't wake him, he retorted, irritated, beyond measure, at the man's futile opposition. I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand, you shall show me the way to his room, and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not. Then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. Come, Paddy Pierre, I insist, he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briott, with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind, still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him, Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphine. He knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness, it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now, since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs before the night was many minutes older, he ceased to parley with Briott. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner. With the help of the one, he lighted the other. Then candle in hand, he walked up to the door. Show me the way, Paddy Pierre, he said, and arrested Briott with a shrug of the shoulders, which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this. And without further comment led the way upstairs. On the upper landing, at the top of the stairs, Briott paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor and said curtly, that's his room. I thank you, Paddy Pierre, whispered St. Janus in response, don't wait for me, I'll be back directly. He is not yet in bed, was Briott's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Janus walked rapidly toward it, he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep, and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch. Briott still lingered on the top of the stairs. There were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Janus suddenly realized that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hut-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Janus was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked, but even as the young man hesitated for a moment, wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor, on the other side of the partition, and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge. Who goes there? A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Janus had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. Mr. Clifford, he exclaimed, at sight of St. Janus, the Englishman whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room. But equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to a rusted briot. That's all right, petty Pierre, he called out eerily. It is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company, I'll go back to the parlor and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good night! As Clifford no longer stood in the doorway, St. Janus walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old arrested to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behavior of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze St. Janus at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt, for hanging on a peg was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy, a pair of pistols, and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment. The other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves and to make him lose that self-control that would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Janus was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clifford's deep-set gray eyes a strange look of amusement as if the humor of his present position was more obvious than its shame. And what, he asked pleasantly, has procured me the honor at this late hour of a visit from Moussour Le Marquis de St. Janus. His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there. Clifford's connection with De Marmont was well known. The plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer, an alien spy, who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper. And as Maurice now concluded eerily, he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief. Maurice didn't care which. The whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. You know quite well why I am here, he now said roughly, of a truth for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honored by the friendship of Moussour Le Cambre and of his family was a thief as well as a spy. And now, said Clifford, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction. May I ask what you intend to do? Forch you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief, retorted the other savagely. And how are you proposing to do that, Moussour de Saint-Jeanus asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. Like this, cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. Like this, he cried again as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defense, Clifford, despite his wounded arm, was ready for the attack. With his left on guard, he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. Saint-Jeanus, stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles, fell back a step or two. His foot struck against some object on the floor. He lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. You abominable thief, you he cried choking with rage and with discomforture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. I should have tried some other method, Missour de Saint-Jeanus, had I been in your shoes, came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed Saint-Jeanus had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure of his earnest face now softened by a smile full of kindly humor and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. Let me go, you confounded thief, Saint-Jeanus cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed. You accursed spy, you. Easy, easy, my young friend, said the other calmly, you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage and further epithets might upset my temper. Let go my throat. I will, in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend, whether I shall trust you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host as guilty of assaulting one of his guests or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one. Right is on my side, said Saint-Jeanus doggedly, I do not care what you do to me. Right is apparently on your side, my friend, I will not deny it, therefore I still hesitate. Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness, until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lackey without allowing me a word of explanation. Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clifford? Yes, Moussour de Saint-Jeanus it is, but not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest, but let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England. He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man, fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification, struggled to his feet. Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime? He said roughly, if so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honor and against the woman whom I love. Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, Moussour de Saint-Jeanus retorted Clifford, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will, I hope, communicate to the people whom you honor, I will tell you a few simple facts. Neither of the men sat down. They stood facing one another now across the table, whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful yellow lights on their faces, so different, so strangely contrasted, young and well-looking both, both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. I listen, said St. Janus curtly, and Clifford began, after a slight pause, at the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigor. Moussour de Saint-Jeanus, he said, did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honor, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents in theirs or yours, what matters, retorted St. Janus savagely, since his majesty is deprived of it now. That is where you are mistaken, my young friend, said the other quietly. His majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when Moussour Lacombe de Cambrai, with his family and yourself, started on that chaotic, if ill-considered errand this morning. St. Janus frowned in puzzlement. I don't understand you, he said curtly. Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for De Marmont. He is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which Moussour Lacombe de Cambrai had placed in the Comte de Cambrai's charge. Why did you not warn the Comte, then, queried St. Janus, who still mistrustful, clowered at his antagonist? Would he have listened to me, think you? asked the other with a quiet smile. Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret, on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with De Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mademoiselle Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence? And so you planned this robbery. You, stammered St. Janus, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. I'll not believe it. He continued more firmly. You are fooling me now that I have found you out. Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him, and earn his gratitude, or use the money for my own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? Miss Orla Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! After tonight are we likely to meet again? St. Janus said nothing in reply of a truth. There was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Janus felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he, St. Janus, could not comprehend. Vaguely he realized that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism, and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clifford who at last broke the silence between them. You, Miss Sore de St. Janus, he said lightly, would under, like circumstances, have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution, half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwaymen to play, an old man, and two or three defenseless women. My part was not heroic, I admit. He added with a smile, but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now. Within a few days his majesty, the king of France, shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied. I confess I don't understand you, said St. Janus, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. You have rendered us, and the legitimate cause of France, a signal service. Why did you do it? You forget, Miss Sore de St. Janus, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well. Are you a servant of your country, then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves. Clifford smiled. So I am, he said, but even a tradesman may serve his country if he has the opportunity. I hope that your country will be duly grateful, said Maurice with a sigh. I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew. By your leave, Miss Sore de St. Janus, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. You mean that except for reassuring Miss Sore, Lacombe de Cambrai, and Madame Iselle Crystal, there is no reason that they should ever know what passed between us in this room tonight. But if the king is to have the money, he will never know from me from whence it comes. He will wish to know. Come, Miss Sore de St. Janus, broken Clifford with a slight hint of impatience, it is for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days that the money will reach his majesty, the king, ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister, Miss Sore Lacombe de Jaquor, and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter. I am a mere servant of Great Britain, doing my duty where I can, nothing more. You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No. Well, I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known, not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to Miss Sore de Cambrai, he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided? All that you need say to Miss Sore Lacombe, replied Clifford with a slight tone of impatience, is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach his majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least I presume that you are satisfied, Miss Sore de Saint-Jeanus, he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. Yes, yes, of course, I am satisfied, murmured the other, but what? Moselle Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions. She will insist. I had promised her to get the money back myself. She will expect an explanation. She, he continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences, almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the inquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused, still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now, Clifford made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table, and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem, in this occupation, that he took no notice of Saint-Jeanus, who, with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep sad eyes. Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clifford looked up from his absorbing task. It is late, he remarked casually, shall we say good night, Misseur de Saint-Jeanus? The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table, and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shame-facedness. Mr. Clifford, he began abruptly, Yes, have you any cause to hate me? Why, no, replied Clifford, with his habitual, good-humored smile, why should I have? Have you any cause to hate Mademoiselle Crystal de Cambry? Certainly not. You have no desire, insisted Maurice, to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night? His voice had grown more steady, and his look more determined, as he put these rapid questions to Clifford, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. I have no desire, with regard to Mademoiselle de Cambry, replied Bobby quietly, save that of serving her if it be in my power. You can serve her, sir, retorted Maurice firmly, and that, right nobly, you can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope. How? Maurice paused once more, with a gesture habitual to him. He crossed his arms over his chest, and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark inquiring eyes, seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. Did you know, Mr. Clifford, he asked slowly, that Mademoiselle Crystal de Cambry honors me with her love? Yes, I knew that, replied the other quietly, and I love her with my heart, and so continued Maurice impetuously. Oh, I cannot tell you what we have suffered, she and I, when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us seemingly forever. Her heart was broken, and so was mine. And I endured the tortures of hell, and I realized at last that she was lost to me forever, and that her exquisite person, her beautiful soul, were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor, Victor de Marmont. He drew breath, for he had half exhausted himself with the volubility and vehemence of his Also, he seemed to be waiting for some encouragement from Clifford, who, however, gave him none, but sat unmoved and apparently supremely indifferent, while a suffering heart was pouring out its wails of agony into his unresponsive ear. The reason resumed St. Janus somewhat more calmly, why Massor Lacombe de Cambre was opposed to our union, was purely a financial one. Our families are of equal distinction and antiquity, but alas, our fortunes are also of equal precariousness. We, sir, of the old noblesse, gave up our all in order to follow our king into exile. Victor de Marmont was rich. His fortune could have repurchased the ancient Cambre estates, and restored to that honored name all the brilliance which it had sacrificed for its principles. Still Clifford remained irritatingly silent, and St. Janus asked him somewhat tartly, I trust I am making myself clear, sir. Perfectly so far, replied the other quietly, but I am afraid I don't quite see how you propose that I could serve Mademoiselle Crystal in all this. You can, with one word, one generous action, sir, put me in a position to claim Crystal as my wife, and give her that happiness which she craves for, and which is rightly her due. A slight lifting of the eyebrows was Clifford's only comment. Mr. Clifford now said Maurice, with the obvious firm resolve to end his own hesitancy at last, you say yourself that by taking this money to his majesty, or rather to his minister, you individually will get neither glory nor even gratitude. Your name will not appear in the transaction at all. I am quoting your own words, remember? That is so, is it not? It is so, certainly. But sir, if a Frenchman, a royalist, were able to render his king so signal a service he would not only gain gratitude but recognition and glory, a man who was poor and obscure would at once become rich and distinguished, and in a position to marry the woman he loved, concluded Bobby smiling. Then as Maurice said nothing but continued to regard him with glowing anxious eyes, he added, smiling not altogether kindly, this time, I think I understand, Missour de Saint-Jeanus, and what do you say, queried the other excitedly. Let me make the situation clear first, as I understand it, Missour continued Bobby dryly. You are, and I mistake not, suggesting at the present moment that I should hand over the twenty-five millions to you in order that you should take them yourself to the king in Paris, and by this act obtain not only favors from him, but probably a goodly share of the money, which you, presumably, will have forced some unknown highwayman to give up to you. Is that it? It was not money for myself, I thought of, sir, murmured Saint-Jeanus somewhat shame-facedly. No, no, of course not, rejoined Clifford with a tone of sarcasm quite foreign to his usual, easygoing good nature. You were thinking of the king's favors and of a future of distinction and glory. I was thinking chiefly of crystal, sir, said the other, hodlily. Quite so, you were thinking of winning Mademoiselle Crystal by a subterfuge, an innocent one, sir, you will admit, I should not be robbing you in any way, and remember that it is only Crystal's hand that is denied me, her love I have already won. A look of pain, quickly suppressed and easily hidden from the other's self-absorbed gaze, crossed the Englishman's earnest face. I do remember that messor he said, else I certainly would never lend a hand in the subterfuge. You will do it then, queried the other eagerly. I have not said so. Ah, but you will, pleaded Maurice hotly. Sir, the eternal gratitude of two faithful hearts would be yours always, for Crystal will know it all once we are married. I promise you that she will, and in the midst of her happiness she will find time to bless your generosity and your selflessness, whilst I, enough, I beg of you, messor de st. Janus broke in Clifford now with angry impatience. Believe me, I do not hug myself with any thought of my own virtues, nor do I desire any gratitude from you. If I hand over the money to you, it is sorely against my better judgment, and distinctly against my duty. But since that duty chiefly lies in being assured that the king of France will receive the money safely, why then, by handing it over to you, I have that assurance, and my conscience will rest at comparative ease. You shall have the money, sir, and you shall marry Mademoiselle Crystal on the strength of the king's gratitude towards you, and Mademoiselle Crystal will be happy if you keep silence over this transaction. But for God's sake, let's say no more about it, for of a truth you and I are playing but a sorry role this night. A sorry role, protested the other. Yes, a sorry role. Are you not deceiving a woman? Am I not running counter to my duty? I but deceive Crystal temporarily. I love her, and only deceive in order to win her. The end justifies the means, nor do you, in my opinion, run counter to your duty. But Clifford interrupted him roughly. I pray you, sir, make no comment on mine actions. My own silent comments on these are hard enough to bear. Your eulogies would raise bounds to my patience. Whereupon he walked quickly up to the bed, and from under the mattress extricated five leather wallets, which he threw one by one upon the table. Here is the king's money, he said curtly. You could never have taken it from me by force, but I give it over to you willingly now. If within a week from now I hear that the king has not received it, I will proclaim you a liar and a thief. Sir, you dare. Nay, will not quarrel. I don't want to do you any hurt. You know from experience that I could kill you, or ring your neck as easily as you could kill a child. But Mademoiselle Crystal's love is like a protecting shield all around you, so I'll not touch you again. But don't ask me to measure my words, for that is beyond my power. Take the money, Missour de Saint-Jeanus, and earn not only the king's gratitude, but also Mademoiselle Crystal's, which is far better worth having. And now I pray you leave me to rest, you must be tired too, and our mutual company has become irksome to us both. He turned his back on Saint-Jeanus and sat down at the table, drawing paper and and inkhorn toward him, and with clumsy left hand began laboriously to form written characters as if Saint-Jeanus's presence or departure no longer concerned him. An importunate beggar could not have been more humiliatingly dismissed. Saint-Jeanus had flushed to the very roots of his hair. He would have given much to be able to chastise the insolent Englishman then and there, but the latter had not boasted when he said that he could wring Maurice's neck as easily with his left hand as with his right, and Maurice within his heart was bound to own that the boast was no idle one. He knew that in a hand-to-hand fight he was no match for that heavy-framed, hard-fisted product of a fog-ridden land. He could not trust himself to speak any more, lest another word would cause prudence to yield to exasperation, another moment of hesitation, a shrug of the shoulders, perhaps a muttered curse or two, and Saint-Jeanus picked up one by one the wallets from the table. Clifford never looked up while he did so. He continued to form awkward, illegible characters upon the paper before him, as if his very life depended on being able to write with his left hand. The next moment Saint-Jeanus had walked rapidly out of the room. Bobby left off writing, threw down his pen, and resting his elbow upon the table, and his head in his hand. He remained silent and motionless, while Saint-Jeanus's quick and firm footsteps echoed first along the corridor, then down the creaking stairs, and finally on the floor below, after which there came the sound of the opening and shutting of a door, the dragging of a chair across a wooden floor, and nothing more. All was still in the house at last. The old-fashioned clock downstairs struck half-past two. With a smothered cry of angry contempt Clifford seized on the papers that lay scattered on the table, and crushed them up in his hand with a gesture of passionate wrath. Then he strode up to the window, threw open the rickety casement, and let the pure cold air of night pour into the room, and dissipate the atmosphere of cowardice, of falsehood, and of unworthy love that still seemed to hang there, where Missour Le Marquis de Saint-Jeanus had basely bargained for his own ends, and outraged the very name of love by planning bathed deeds in its name. And disappointment would not allow him to rest. He had brought his squad of cavalry up as far as Saint-Priest, which lies a little off the main road, about half-way between Lyons and the scene of de Marmont's late discomforture. Here he and his men had spent the night only to make a fresh start early the next morning, back for Grenoble. Seeing that Missour Le Comte de Artois, with thirty or forty thousand troops, was even now at Lyons. When, an hour after leaving Saint-Priest, the little troop came upon a solitary horseman, riding a heavy carriage horse with a postillian's bridle, de Marmont at first had no other thought save that of malicious pleasure, at recognizing the man whom just now he hated more cordially than any other man in the world. Missour de Saint-Jeanus, for indeed it was he, was peremptorily challenged and questioned, and his wrath and impotent attempts at arrogance greatly delighted de Marmont. To make oneself actively unpleasant to arrival is apt to be a very pleasurable sensation. Victor had an exceedingly disagreeable half-hour to avenge and to declare Saint-Jeanus a prisoner of war, to order his removal to Grenoble, pending the Emperor's pleasure, to command him to be silent when he desired to speak, was so much soothing balsam spread upon the wounds which his own pride had suffered at Brestelo last Sunday eve. It was not until a casual remark from the sergeant under his command caused him to notice the bulging pockets of Saint-Jeanus's coat that Victor thought to give the order to search the prisoner. The latter entered a vigorous protest, he fought and he threatened. He promised de Marmont the hangman's robe and his men terrible reprisals, but of course he was fighting a losing battle. He was alone against five and twenty. His first attempt at getting hold of the pistols in his belt was met with a threat of summery execution. He was dragged out of the saddle. His arms were forced behind his back, while rough hands turned out the precious contents of his coat pockets. All that he could do was to curse fate which had brought these pirates on his way and his own short sightedness and impatience in not waiting for the armed patrol which undoubtedly would have been sent out to him from Lyons in response to Massour Lacombe de Cambrai's request. Now he had the deadly chagrin and bitter disappointment of seeing the money which he had rested from Clifford last night at the price of so much humiliation transferred to the pockets of a real thief and spoliator who would either keep it for himself or what in the enthusiastic royalist eyes would be even worse place it at the service of the Corsican usurper. He could hardly believe in the reality of his ill luck so appalling was it. In one moment he saw all the hopes of which he had dreamed last night fly beyond recall he had lost crystal more effectually more completely than he had ever done before if the Englishman ever spoke of what had occurred last night if crystal ever knew that he had been fool enough to lose the treasure which had been in his possession for a few hours her contempt would crush the love which she had for him nor would the comp de Cambrai ever relent. De Marmont's triumph too was hard to bear his clumsy irony was terribly galling would Massour lay Marquis de Saint-Jeanus care to continue his journey to Lyons now would he not prefer to go to Grenoble. Saint-Jeanus bit his tongue with the determination to remain silent. Massour de Saint-Jeanus is free to go with her he chooses the permission was not even welcome Maurice would as leaf be taken prisoner and dragged back to Grenoble as face crystal with the story of his failure quite mechanically he remounted and pulled his horse to one side while de Marmont ordered his little squad to form once more and after the brief word of command and a final sarcastic farewell galloped off up the road back toward Lyons at the head of his men not waiting to see if Saint-Jeanus came his way to or not the latter with wearied aching eyes gazed after the fast disappearing troop until they became a mere speck on the long straight road and the distant morning mist finally swallowed them up then he too turned his horse's head in the same direction back toward Lyons once more and allowing the reins to hang loosely in his hand and letting his horse pick its own slow way along the road he gave himself over to the gloominess of his own thoughts he too had some difficulty in entering the town Massour la Duke de Orleans cousin of the king had just arrived to support Massour Lacombe de Artois and together these two royal princes had framed and posted up a proclamation to the brave lionese of the National Guard the whole city was in a turmoil for Massour la Duke de Orleans who was nothing if not practical had at once declared that there was not the slightest chance of a successful defense of Lyons and that by far the best thing to do would be to withdraw the troops while they were still loyal Massour Lacombe de Artois protested at any rate he wouldn't do anything so drastic till after the arrival of Marshal MacDonald to whom he had sent an urgent courier the day before and joining him to come to Lyons without delay in the meantime he and his royal cousin did all they could to kindle or at any rate to keep up the loyalty of the troops but defection was already in the air here and there the men had been seen to throw their white cockades into the mud and more than one cry of viva la emperor had risen even while Massour himself was reviewing the National Guard on the plus bellicor the bridge of la guillotière was stoutly barricaded but as st. genus waited out in the open road while his name was being taken to the officer in command he saw crowds of people standing or walking up and down on the opposite bank of the river they were waiting for the emperor the news of whose approach was filling the townspeople with glee heart sick and wretched st. genus after several hours of weary waiting did ultimately obtain permission to enter the city by the ferry on the south side of the city once inside Lyons he had no difficulty in ascertaining where such a distinguished gentleman as Massour Lacombe de Cambrai had put up for the night and he promptly made his way to the hotel bourbon his mind at this stage still a complete blank as to how he would explain his discomforture to the comp and to crystal in the present state of Massour Lacombe de Artois difficulties the money would have been thrice welcome and st. genus felt the load of failure weighing thrice as heavily on his soul and dreaded the reproaches mute or outspoken which he knew awaited him if only he could have thought of something something plausible and not too inglorious there was of course the possibility that he had failed to come upon the track of the thieves at all but then he had no business to come back so soon and he didn't want to come back only that there was always the likelihood of the Englishman speaking of what had occurred not necessarily with evil intent but some words of his if within a week I hear that the king of France has not received this money I will proclaim you a liar and a thief rang unpleasantly in st. genus's ears the young man's mind I repeat was at this point still a blank as to what explanation he would give to the comp de cambray of his own miserable failure he was returning after an ardent promise to overtake the thief and to force him to give up the money without apparently having made any effort in that direction or having made the effort failing signally and ignominiously a foolish and unheroic position in either case to tell the whole unvarnished truth his interview with Clifford and his thoughtlessness in wandering along the road all alone laden with twenty five million francs not waiting for the arrival of Missour Lacombe de Artois's patrol was unthinkable then what st. genus determined not to tell the truth found it a difficult task to concoct a story that would be plausible and at the same time redound to his credit his disappointment was so bitter now his hopes of winning crystal and glory had been so bright that he found it quite impossible to go back to the hard facts of life to his own poverty and the unattainableness of crystal de cambray without making a great effort to win back what victor de marmont had just rested from him through the whorl of his thoughts to there was a vague sense of resentment against Clifford coupled with an equally vague sense of fear he marise might easily keep silent over the transaction of last night but Clifford might not feel inclined to do so he would want to know sooner or later what had become of the money had he not uttered a threat which made marise's cheeks even now flush with wrath and shame certain words and gestures of the Englishman had stood out before marise's mind in a way that had stirred up those latent jealousies which always lurk in the heart of an unsuccessful whore Clifford had been generous blind to his own interests ready to sacrifice what recognition he had earned he had spared his assailant and agreed to an unworthy subterfuge and st. genesis tormented brain began to wonder why he had done all this was it for love of crystal the cambray st. genesis would not allow himself to answer that question for he felt that if he did he would hate that hard-fisted Englishman more thoroughly than he had ever hated any man before not accepting de marmont de marmont was an evil and vile traitor who never could cross crystal's path of life again but not so the Englishman who had planned to serve her and who would have succeeded so magnificently but for his marise's interference if this explanation of Clifford's strangely magnanimous conduct was the true one then indeed st. genesis felt that he would have everything to fear from him for indeed it was so very unlikely that the Englishman was throughout acting in collusion with victor de marmont who was known to be his friend was it so very unlikely that seeing himself unmasked he had found a sure and rapid way of allowing the money to pass through st. genesis hands into those of de marmont and at the same time hopelessly humiliating and discrediting his rival in the affections of mademoiselle de cambray that the suggestion of handing the money over to him had come originally from marise de st. genesis himself the young man did not trouble himself to remember the more he thought this new explanation of past events over the more plausible did it seem and the more likely of acceptance by massour lacombed de cambray and by crystal and st. genesis at last saw his way to appearing before them not only zealous but heroic even if unfortunate and it was with a much lightened heart that he finally drew rain outside the hotel bourbon massour lacombed de cambray it seems was staying at the hotel for a few days so the proprietor informed massour de st. genesis massour lacombed had gone out but madame la duchess d'agent was upstairs with mademoiselle de cambray with somewhat uncertain step st. genesis followed the obsequious proprietor who had insisted on conducting massour le marquis to the ladies apartments himself they occupied a suite of rooms on the first floor and after a timid knock at the door it was opened by gene from within and marise found himself in the presence of crystal and of the duchess and obliged at once to enter upon the explanation which with their first cry of surprise they already asked of him well exclaimed crystal eagerly what news of the money murmured marise vaguely who above all things was anxious to gain time yes the king's money rejoined the girl with slight impatience have you tracked the thieves do you know where they are is there any hope of catching them none i am afraid he replied firmly crystal gave a cry of bitter disappointment and reproach then marise she exclaimed almost involuntarily why are you here and madame la duchess folding her mittened hands before her seemed mutely to be asking the same question but did you come upon the thieves at all continued crystal with eager volubility where did they go to for the night you must have come on some traces of their passage oh she added vehemently you ought not to have deserted your post like this what could i do he murmured i was all alone against so many you said that you would get on the track of the thieves she urged and father told you that he would speak with missor lacombe de artois as soon as possible missor has promised that an armed patrol would be sent out to you and would be on the lookout for you on the road an armed patrol would be no use i came back on purpose to stop one being sent but why in heaven's name exclaimed the duchess because a troop of deserters with that traitor victor de marmont is scouring the road and we know that said crystal we were stopped by them last night after you left us they were after the money for the usurper who had sent them and i thanked god that 25 millions had enriched a common thief rather than the corsican brigand surely marise said the duchess with her usual tartness you were not fool enough to allow the king's money to fall into that abominable de marmont's hands how could i help it now exclaimed the young man as if driven to the extremity of despair the whole thing was a huge plot beyond one man's power to cope with i tracked the thieves he continued with the hemons as eager as crystals i tracked them to a lonely hostelry off the beaten track at dead of night a den of cutthroats and conspirators i tracked the thief to his lair and forced him to give the money up to me you forced him oh how splendid cried crystal but then ah then there was the hideousness of the plot the thief feeling himself unmasked gave up his stolen booty i forced him to his knees and five wallets containing 25 million francs were safely in my pockets at last you forced him how splendid reiterated crystal whose glowing eyes were fixed upon marise with all the admiration which she felt yes that money was in my pocket for the rest of the happy night but the abominable thief knew well that his friend victor de marmont was on the road with five and twenty armed deserters in the pay of the corsican brigand hardly had i left the hostelry and found my way back to the main road when i was surrounded assailed searched and robbed i repeat continued st genus warming to his own narrative what could i do alone against so many the thief and his hirelings i managed successfully but with the money once in my possession i could not risk staying an hour longer than i could help in that den of cutthroats but they were in league with de marmont and though i would have guarded the king's money with my life it was filched from me ere i could draw a single weapon in its defense he had sunk in a chair half exhausted with the effort of his own eloquence and now with elbows resting on his knees and had buried in his hands he looked the picture of heroic misery crystal said nothing for a while there was a deep frown of puzzlement between her eyes marise she said resolutely at last you said just now that the thief was in collusion with his friend de marmont what did you mean by that i would rather that you guessed what i meant crystal replied marise without looking up at her you mean that she began slowly that it was mr clifford our english friend broken madame tartley who robbed us on the broad highway i suspected it all along you suspected it montante and said nothing asked the girl who obviously had not taken in the full significance of marise's statement i said absolutely nothing replied madame decisively firstly because i did not think that i would be doing any good by putting my own surmises into my brother's head and secondly because i must confess that i thought that nice young englishman had acted poor leban motif how could you think that montante ejaculated crystal hotly a good motive to rob us at dead of night he a friend of victor de marmont an adherent of the corsican englishmen are not adherents of the corsican my dear retorted madame dryly and until marise's appearance this morning i was satisfied that the money would ultimately reach his majesty's own hands but we were taking the money to his majesty ourselves and victor de marmont was after it mr clifford may have known that remember my dear continued madame that these were my impressions last night marise's account of the den of cutthroats has modified these entirely again crystal was silent the frown had darkened on her face there was a line of bitter resentment around her lips a look of contempt of hate of a desire to hurt in her eyes marise she said abruptly at last yes i did wound that thief did i not yes in the shoulder it gave me a slight advantage he said with affected modesty i am glad and you you were able to punish him too i hope yes i punished him he was watching her very closely for inwardly he had been wondering how she had taken his news she was strangely agitated so marise's troubled jealous heart told him her face was flushed her eyes were wet and a tiny lace handkerchief which she twisted between her fingers was nothing but a damp rag oh i hate him i hate him she murmured as with an impatient gesture she brushed the gathering tears from her eyes father had been so kind to him so were we all how could he how could he his duty i suppose said st. jenice magnanimously his duty she retorted scornfully to the cause which he served duty to a usurper a brigand the enemy of his country was he then paid to serve the corsican probably his being in trade buying gloves at granobal was all a plant then i am afraid so said st. jenice who much against his will now was sinking ever deeper and deeper in the quagmire of lying and cowardice into which he had allowed himself to drift and he was nothing better than a spy no one not even crystal herself could have defined with what feelings she said this was it solely contempt or did a strange mixture of regret and sorrow mingle with the scorn which she felt swiftly her thoughts had flown back to that sunday evening a very few days ago when the course of her destiny was so suddenly changed once more when her marriage with a man whom she could never love was broken off when the possibilities once more rose upon the horizon of her life of a renewed existence of poverty and exile in the wake of a dispossessed king that same evening a man whom she had hardly noticed before a man neither of her own nationality nor of her own caste this same englishman clifford had entered into her life not violently or aggressively but just with a few words of intense sympathy and with a genuine offer of friendship and she somehow despite much kindness which encompassed her always had felt cheered and warmed by his words and a strange and sweet sense of security against her and sorrow had entered her heart as she listened to them and now she knew that all that was false false his sympathy false his offers of friendship his words were false his hand grasped false treachery lurked behind that kindly look in his eyes and falsehood beneath his smile he was nothing better than a spy the sting of that thought hurt her more than she could have thought possible she had so few real friends and this one had proved a sham had she been alone she would have given way to tears but before marise or even her aunt she was ashamed of her grief ashamed of her feelings and of her thoughts there was a great deal yet that she wished to know but somehow the words choked her when she wanted to ask further questions fortunately madame laduchess was taking marise thoroughly to task she asked innumerable questions and would not spare him the relation of a single detail tell us all about it from the beginning marise she said where did you first meet the rogue and marise weary and ashamed was forced to embark on a minute account of adventures that relies from beginning to end he had stumbled across the wayside hostelry on a lonely bypass he had found it full of cutthroats he had stalked and waylaid their chief in his own room and forced him to give up the money by the weight of his fists it was paltry and pitiable nevertheless st. genus as he warmed to his tail lost the shame of it only wrath remained with him anger that he should be forced into this despicable role through the intrigues of arrival in his heart he was already beginning to find innumerable excuses for his cowardice and his rage and hatred grew against clifford as madame's more and more persistent questions taxed his imagination almost to exhaustion when after half an hour of this worrying cross examination madame at last granted him a respite he made a pretext of urgent business at mesur le comp des artois headquarters and took his leave of the ladies he waited in vain hope that the duchess's tact would induce her to leave him alone for a moment with crystal madame stuck obstinately to her chair and was blind and deaf to every hint of appeal from him whilst crystal who was singularly absorbed and had lent but a very indifferent ear to his narrative made no attempt to detain him she gave him her hand to kiss just as madame had done it lay hot and moist in his grasp crystal he continued to murmur as his lips touched her fingers i love you i worked for you it is not my fault that i failed she looked at him kindly and sympathetically through her tears and gave his hand a gentle little pressure i am sure it was not your fault she replied gently poor marise it was not more than any kind friend would say under like circumstances but to a lover every little word from the beloved has a significance of its own every look from her has its hidden meaning somewhat satisfied and cheered marise now took his final leave does mesur le comp proposed to continue his journey to paris he asked at the last oh yes crystal replied he could not stay away while he feels that his majesty may have need of him oh marise she added suddenly forgetting her absorption her wrath against clifford her own disappointment everything in face of the awful possible calamity and turning anxious appealing eyes upon the young man you don't think do you that that abominable usurper will succeed in ousting the king once more from his throne and st. genus remembering la fray and granobal remembering what was going on in lions at this moment the silent grumblings of the troops the defaced white cockades the cries of viva la emperor which he himself had heard as he rode through the town st. genus remembering all this could only shake his head and shrug his shoulders in miserable doubt when he had gone at last crystals thoughts veered back once more to clifford and to his treachery what abominable deceit montante she cried and quite against her will tears of wrath and of disappointment rose to her eyes what villainy what odious execrable treachery madame shrugged her shoulders and took up her knitting these days my dear she said with unwanted placidity the world is so full of treachery that men and women absorb it by every poor but i shall not leave it at that rejoined crystal resolutely i'll find a means of punishing that vile traitor i'll make him feel the hatred which he had so richly deserved i shall not rest till i have made him suffer as he makes me suffer now my dear my dear protested madame la duchess not a little shocked at the girls vehemence indeed crystals otherwise sweet gentle yielding personality seemed completely transformed for the moment she was just a sensitive woman who had been hit and hurt and whose desire for retaliation is keener more relentless than that of a man all the soft look in her blue eyes had gone they looked dark and hard her fair curls were matted against her damp forehead indeed madame thought that for the moment all crystals beauty had gone the sweet submissive beauty of the girl the grace of movement the shy appealing gentleness of her ways she now looked all determination resentment and above all revenge the dear child sighed the duchess over her knitting it is the english blood in her those people never know how to accept the inevitable they are always wanting to fight someone for something and never know when they are beaten end of chapter six