All the while he lay and looked up at her, too contemptuous, it seemed, to be at the trouble of raising himself, so long as he had her wrist prisoner in that hopeless grasp of his. White, silent, choking, her other hand at her throat, she did not even make an attempt to wrench herself away. At last, when her captor had run on a little more, he loosed his hold. "You can go, my fair assassin! In whose pay are you, by the way?" She paid no heed to the taunt, but, having reached the door, she turned, and spoke in a voice rendered unsteady neither by fear nor shame, but by some more positive emotion. "Listen, M. de la Vireville, and I will tell you my name. I am Raymonde de Guéfontaine--Raymonde du Coudrais, the sister of André du Coudrais, the man whom you hounded out of Coblentz on a lying charge of cheating at cards, whose reputation you blasted with your tongue, whose health you ruined with your sword! And now, before he is cold in his grave--murdered, for all I know, by your connivance--you come to claim his place! Oh, it is too much! After all, cold steel, could I have used it, is too good for you! I know a better way--a more fitting----" "_Du Coudrais!_" broke in the thunderstruck La Vireville, on his elbow. "'Alexis' was du Coudrais! But he . . . it was----" "Ah, you remember!" cried she, unheeding. "You remember that night at the Three Crowns, and the morning after! Till now you had forgotten, perhaps? Otherwise, surely, you would scarcely have dared to come--even you! I had heard a whisper of your name, but I did not believe----" "Stop!" cried La Vireville, breaking in, in his turn. "I assure you----" Her hand was already on the door. "Too late, M. le Marquis! What is done is done. But you shall never step into André's shoes. And at least you know now why I am going to give you up!" "The devil you are!" said La Vireville, with a very grim face. The pistol in his hand covered her with a perfectly steady aim. "There is this between you and your hospitable project, Mme. de Guéfontaine!" He cocked it. She stood flattened against the door, wide-eyed, scarcely breathing, but not attempting to move. "Now swear," commanded the émigré, "swear on the crucifix there that you will do no such thing! Otherwise I shall fire!" For he knew that she would be through the door before he could spring on her. "I will not swear!" cried she, her face a white flame. "Shoot me if you will--you can do no worse to me than you have already done through André--but if you do not shoot me, as sure as there is a God above us, I shall summon the National Guard of this place to take you!" Though the colour of a sheet, she did not flinch before the barrel, not ten feet away. La Vireville set his teeth, and himself changed colour. But he could not do it. The pistol sank. "Madame," he said, in his usual careless tone, "if you are treacherous you are devilish well-plucked. I wish I were as strong-minded. Go and fetch the National Guard then, and be damned to it!"