"'Dog! you think to buy me!' I screamed, in my high indignation--'you, who have played your vile trick upon me, who have laughed under the hood at me. _You_, Thoms! Never, Monsieur Mortlake; but I will have your blood! Fox! beast! you shall be honored for the first time in your plebeian life--you shall fight with Calembours!' "The slave recoils, for he knows the accuracy of the chevalier's aim, he knows the perfection of the chevalier's passes; he loathes pistol and saber as a means of settling the dispute. "Glaring at me, eye to eye, he casts about in his wily brain how to cheat me to my face--he was ever my superior in juggling tricks, although he had no bravery, except what paid him. "But he is late in achieving his last throw for freedom--angry England has tracked the fugitive. A posse of _gens d'armes_--what you call police--pour into monsieur's private saloon, and advance to take my Mortlake. "He glares at them with eyes of horror, gathers himself for a tiger's bound through their midst, and nearly gains the door. "But he is caught--mid air; he is hurled to the floor; the shackles are on his wrists, the gyves are on his feet, and, with foam on his lips and murder in his eyes, he looks up at his captors. "'Ha, ha! my bird!' jests a _gen d'armes_; 'you're caged at last. Your ticket of leave won't do any longer--it's out many a month ago; and, since you don't go in for road-work, in Tasmania, you can try the shortest road to glory.' "The convict says never a word, but shuts his eyes and succumbs; and so they carry him away, and I have bade my last adieu to Monsieur Mortlake. "_Ma chère_, there are ups in this world, and there are downs; I have seen both--I have been elevated to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and again thrown under fortune's wheel--but, mademoiselle, my honor has never been impugned, for it was above reproach. "Yet this dog of a Mortlake had ventured to amuse himself at my expense--had outwitted me in my own game; can the depths of misfortune be too profound for such a traitor? _Pardieu!_ no, a thousand times no! "So that when my Mortlake was dragged to prison, I, the insulted man of honesty, felt only joy that there was a rogue less to find. "Most illustrious heroine, shall I resume the chronicles? "Your face answers with eloquence: 'Yes, my friend, and be brief;' but your great heart trembles, and shrinks from the deep cup of vengeance which I offer, although you long have sought to taste it. "No? you deny the imputation? But, mademoiselle, you tremble and are pale as the winter moon; wherefore? Ah, you apprehend my halting meaning; you perceive the mists of possibility with those keen eyes, and you urge, 'Haste, haste, and assure me of the truth!' "_Eh, bien!_ you shall taste of a cup more mellow than this one of revenge. I hasten to hold it to the lips of Margaret _la Fidele_! "I learn as much of my Mortlake's history as my interest in him prompts me to search out.