"Well, you know, Mademoiselle Marie, the happiness of one person is made of the tears of another. You would have suffered. You would have been jealous." As though against her will, Marie Pascal repeated in a low voice: "Yes, I should have been jealous." "Terribly jealous, for Susy d'Orsel was pretty. Besides, a liaison with her wasn't taken seriously by the King ... while with you it would have been quite different ... why, I believe you would have reached the point of wishing her death." "No! no!" protested Marie feebly, "the King would have made his choice ... frankly and loyally...." "And suppose he hadn't chosen? Suppose he had hesitated before the possible scandal of a rupture? Don't you care enough for him to realize that the very idea of sharing him with another would have been intolerable?... What I am saying sounds brutal, I know, but I am frank with you.... Believe me, you would have been driven to hate the unfortunate Susy." "To hate her? Yes, ... perhaps ... for I should have been jealous!" And then suddenly Marie realized what her words meant: that she had betrayed her cherished secret ... her love. In a moment she burst into sobs and collapsed on the sofa. The Marquis de Serac very gently tried to reassure her. "Don't cry, my poor child. After all, you are lamenting imaginary misfortunes which I have so imprudently imagined.... They don't exist, and never could exist, for it is a fact that Susy d'Orsel is no longer a rival to be feared. Think rather of the future which smiles upon you. You love and you have some reason to hope that you are loved in return, so dry your eyes ... fate has withdrawn the one obstacle which existed between you and the King." Tremblingly, Marie Pascal rose. "Forgive me, Monsieur, for this stupid scene. I lost my self ... control.... I confessed a feeling which I should have kept a secret.... I'm so confused I no longer know what I'm saying ... so please let me go." The Marquis, with exquisite politeness, opened the door for her. "Promise to come and see me again, Mademoiselle; before long I shall probably have something further of interest to say to you." When the door had closed upon Marie Pascal, the Marquis drew aside the portieres. "Come out, my dear fellow.... We shall be alone now!" Wulf appeared. A Wulf literally armed to the teeth, and ready for any emergency. "Put up your arsenal, we are in no danger," exclaimed the Marquis, "and tell me what you think of the visit." "I think there is not a moment to lose," replied Wulf, agitated. "She loves the King and she hated Susy d'Orsel, therefore she is the assassin. She is the cause of all the troubles that have fallen upon the head of our beloved sovereign. Ah! I want to arrest her! Condemn her to death! Come, Marquis, let us go to her room and seize her!" "Not yet a while, Wulf; sit down and talk it over. To begin with, we can arrest nobody without proof ... presumption is not sufficient." "I'll force her to confess!"