It was M. le Comte de Cambray who spoke. He and St. Genis had arrived just in time to save Crystal from a further unpleasant scene. She, however, had not lost her presence of mind. She had certainly listened to de Marmont's final tirade, because she knew that she was helpless in his hands, but she had never been frightened for a moment. Jeanne was within call, and she herself had never been timorous: at the same time she was thankful enough that her father and St. Genis were here. Maurice was almost blind with rage: he would have killed de Marmont but for the Comte's timely words, which luckily had the effect of sobering him at this critical moment. He relaxed his convulsive grip on de Marmont's throat, but the latter had already lost his balance; he fell heavily, his body sliding along the slippery floor, while his head struck against the projecting woodwork of the door. He uttered a loud cry of pain as he fell, then remained lying inert on the ground, and in the dim light his face took on an ashen hue. In an instant Crystal was by his side. "You have killed him, Maurice," she cried, as woman-like--tender and full of compassion now--she ran to the stricken man. "I hope I have," said St. Genis sullenly. "He deserved the death of a cur." "Father, dear," said Crystal authoritatively, "will you call to Jeanne to bring water, a sponge, towels--quickly: also some brandy." She paid no heed to St. Genis: and she had already forgotten de Marmont's dastardly attitude toward herself. She only saw that he was helpless and in pain: she knelt by his side, pillowed his head on her lap, and with soothing, gentle fingers felt his shoulders, his arms, to see where he was hurt. He opened his eyes very soon and encountered those tender blue eyes so full of sweet pity now: "It is only my head, I think," he said. Then he tried to move, but fell back again with a groan of pain: "My leg is broken, I am afraid," he murmured feebly. "I had best fetch a doctor," rejoined M. le Comte. "If you can find one, father, dear," said Crystal. "M. de Marmont ought to be moved at once to his home." "No! no!" protested Victor feebly, "not home! to the Trois Rois . . . the diligence. . . . I must go to England to-night . . . the Emperor's orders." "The doctor will decide," said Crystal gently. "Father, dear, will you go?" Jeanne came with water and brandy. De Marmont drank eagerly of the one, and then sipped the other. "I must go," he said more firmly, "the diligence starts at nine o'clock." Again he tried to move, and a great cry of agony rose to his throat--not of physical pain, though that was great too, but the wild, agonising shriek of mental torment, of disappointment and wrath and misery, greater than human heart could bear. "The Emperor's orders!" he cried. "I must go!"