"If Monsieur," said he, with a sort of smile, "will kill his poor, old, faithful servant, let him strike. Fate is not to be resisted; and prayers are useless!" "Oswald," said I, "release your prisoner; wait here, and keep strict watch. Jean Desmarais, follow me!" I ascended the stairs, and Desmarais followed. "Now," I said, when he was alone with Gerald and myself, "your days are numbered: you will fall; not by my hand, but by that of the executioner. Not only your forgery, but your robbery, your abetment of murder, are known to me; your present lord, with an indignation equal to my own, surrenders you to justice. Have you aught to urge, not in defence--for to that I will not listen--but in atonement? /Can/ you now commit any act which will cause me to forego justice on those which you /have/ committed?" Desmarais hesitated. "Speak," said I. He raised his eyes to mine with an inquisitive and wistful look. "Monsieur," said the wretch, with his obsequious smile, "Monsieur has travelled, has shone, has succeeded; Monsieur must have made enemies: let him name them, and his poor, old, /faithful/ servant will do his best to become the humble instrument of their /fate/!" Gerald drew himself aside, and shuddered. Perhaps till then he had not been fully aware how slyly murder, as well as fraud, can lurk beneath urbane tones and laced ruffles. "I have no enemy," said I, "but one; and the hangman will do my office upon him; but point out to me the exact spot where at this moment he is concealed, and you shall have full leave to quit this country forever. That enemy is Julian Montreuil!" "Ah, ah!" said Desmarais, musingly, and in a tone very different from that in which he usually spoke; "must it be so, indeed? For twenty years of youth and manhood I have clung to that man, and woven my destiny with his, because I believed him born under the star which shines on statesmen and pontiffs. Does dread Necessity now impel me to betray him?--him, the only man I ever loved. So--so--so! Count Devereux, strike me to the core: I will /not/ betray Bertrand Collinot!" "Mysterious heart of man!" I exclaimed inly, as I gazed upon the low brow, the malignant eye, the crafty lip of this wretch, who still retained one generous and noble sentiment at the bottom of so base a breast. But if it sprang there, it only sprang to wither! "As thou wilt," said I; "remember, death is the alternative. By thy birth-star, Jean Desmarais, I should question whether perfidy be not /better luck/ than hanging: but time speeds; farewell; I shall meet thee on thy day of trial." I turned to the door to summon Oswald to his prisoner. Desmarais roused himself from the revery in which he appeared to have sunk.