De Marmont had no definite idea as to what he meant to do. Perhaps, just at this moment, the pale, intangible shadow of Reason had lifted up one corner of the veil that hid the truth from before his eyes--the absolute and naked fact that Crystal de Cambray was not destined for him. She would never marry him--never. The Empire of France was no more--the Emperor was a fugitive. To St. Genis and his caste belonged the future--and the turn had come for the adherents of the fallen Emperor to sink into obscurity or to go into exile. Be that as it may, it is certain that in this fateful moment de Marmont was only conscious of an all-powerful overwhelming feeling of hatred and the determination that whatever happened to himself he must and would prevent St. Genis from ever approaching Crystal de Cambray with words of love again. That he had the power to do this he was fully conscious. "Crystal!" he called, and at the same time ordered the bearers to halt on the doorstep for a moment. "Crystal, will you give me your hand in farewell?" The young girl would probably have complied with his wish, but St. Genis interposed. "Crystal," he said authoritatively, "your father has already called you. You have done everything that Christian charity demands. . . ." And once more he tried to draw the young girl away. "Do not touch her, man," called de Marmont in a loud voice, "a coward like you has no right to touch the hand of a good woman." "M. de Marmont," broke in Crystal hotly, "you presume on your helplessness. . . ." "Pay no heed to the ravings of a maniac, Crystal," interposed St. Genis calmly, "he has fallen so low now, that contemptuous pity is all that he deserves."