"You shall judge, monsieur!" replied the negro, and when he set me down, he took a bottle from the rack and proceeded to unfold the cork. "Why this sudden kindness to an _ame damnée_!" I asked indifferently. "Has my last hour come?" "God knows, monsieur; but you are, I think, to have a visitor, and I have orders! Kindly drink!" He poured out a full cup of the frothy nectar, and held it to my lips. I quaffed it slowly, and felt the life blood surge anew along my veins. Also I felt my lacerated hand begin to pain, and soon I groaned aloud. Beudant on instant was a kind physician, and I blessed him as he poured some warm and grateful balsam on the wounds, and bound my injured fingers in a swathe of silk. "Beudant." said I, "whichever takes me, Beelzebub or Satan, when I go, I'll sing your praises to him as a man of heart." "Peace, blasphemer!" grated Jussieu. "Peace yourself, you canting hound!" I cried. For answer he smote me on the mouth. But that was too much even for me, who till that moment honestly believed that I was destitute of pride. I discovered at the touch of a blackfellow's paw that, at all events, I had a pride of race. I filled my lungs with air and shouted like a Stentor: "Help! Help! Murder! Murder!" Jussieu shook like a leaf. "You blasted pig!" he muttered--very low. "God strike you dead!" Truly his religion, for all his preaching, was not deep. But Sir Charles Venner's voice answered at once, in very angry tones: "Beudant, Jussieu, what the devil are you doing?" Next instant the door opened. I saw the tail end of a flight of brick steps, and into the room rushed Marion Le Mar, followed less quickly by the surgeon, who stopped to lock the door behind him. The girl stopped midway on the floor. But I did not look at her. I was too deeply agitated, and I wished to gather up my strength for later use. I heard Sir Charles repeat his question. Jussieu replied--"Master, he blasphemed, and I struck him on the mouth." Pride of race is a curious thing. I found I could not argue with the negro, though he had lied. The surgeon whipped his servant with a dozen scorching words, then strode beside my chair. "For this insult, Hume," he said, "I offer you my sincere apologies. Such a thing will not occur again!" "Give me another cup of wine," I cried, "and I'll forgive you." Within a moment it was held up to my lips, and I drained it at one draught. I was passionately craving strength to show my hate to Marion. Heaven! How I hated her! "More?" asked Sir Charles. "No," I answered sullenly; my eyes fell upon the floor. "Mademoiselle Le Mar denies that you gave her any packet, Hume?" "Does she?" "Yes, and she is here to confront you?" "Why?" "To induce you to confess your falsehood!" "And if I don't?" "It will go harder with you than before!"