“She’s the whole question,” cried Minna. “She and nothing else--she who has been my burning torture and shame for four years. Do you think, because I live recklessly like a wanton woman, that I can’t feel degradation? And you shall feel it too. You fool! You worse than fool! She was as pure as a saint--as one of your Christian saints in heaven--and I was jealous of her--I didn’t know her then--but you---- Do you know where Hugh Colman was that night of the murder? He was with me--all night. The thieves came in by the window I had unbolted for him. He had been married to me for nearly a year. We had quarrelled. It was my fault. I thought I hated him. Oh, God, if you knew how I love him now! Then you would know what love is!” She paused for breath, which came pantingly. Gerard stood stiff, his eyes fixed upon her, unmoving, as if turned to stone. He passed his tongue over his lips. The enormity of his folly paralysed him. At last words came. “What kept him silent then?” “As if you could understand,” she cried in her passionate scorn. “The honour of the bravest man that ever lived. That night--he had seen my father’s will--all my money to go if I married a Christian--we swore to part for ever and keep our marriage secret. I kept him to his promise. I let him go through all that horror--I was coming to tell you that awful night--I was taken ill. _Your_ wife saved his life, not his. And I have been in hell fire ever since.” “And there I hope to God you’ll remain,” said Gerard in a low voice. “You shall taste some of it with me. Go to her now and ask her to forgive you.” “I shall order the carriage for you,” said Gerard. And without another word he turned and walked out of the room. “He will order the carriage for me. Ha! Ha!” cried Minna. The buxom _patronne_ heard the laugh, pricked up her ears, and flew to the beautiful lady’s assistance. CHAPTER XXIV Gerard gave the man who was holding the ponies a five-franc piece, and drove back at a break-neck pace. Minna’s revelation and taunts had set him in a frame of mind bordering on madness. He did not stop to question the truth of her statement. It cast too lurid a light upon the dark places of the mystery of four years ago. His egregious folly danced before his eyes. The wrong inflicted on a heroic woman and a loyal man loomed before him in ghastly significance. He could not hide behind sophistries. He was _not_ a bad man, to contemplate the consequences of his actions with cynical complacency. Deep down in him lingered the conscience of the moral, if invertebrate, Briton. His conscience was appalled at the irreparable injury. Minna was suddenly transformed from the desired flesh feminine into an unthinkable hate. Irene assumed a new radiance of martyrdom.