"And contempt without pity is all that you deserve, M. le Marquis de St. Genis," cried de Marmont excitedly. "Ask him, Mademoiselle Crystal, ask him where is the man who to-day saved his life? whom I myself saw to-day on the roadside, wounded and half dead with fatigue, on horseback, with the inert body of M. de St. Genis lying across his saddle-bow. Ask him how he came to lie across that saddle-bow? and whether his English friend and mine, Bobby Clyffurde, did not--as any who passed by could guess--drag him out of that hell at Waterloo and bring him into safety, whilst risking his own life. Ask him," he continued, working himself up into a veritable fever of vengeful hatred, as he saw that St. Genis--sullen and glowering--was doing his best to drag Crystal away, to prevent her from listening further to this awful indictment, these ravings of a lunatic half-distraught with hate. "Ask him where is Clyffurde now? to what lonely spot he has crawled in order to die while M. le Marquis de St. Genis came back in gay apparel to court Mlle. Crystal de Cambray? Ah! M. de St. Genis, you tried to heap opprobrium upon me--you talked glibly of contempt and of pity. Of a truth 'tis I do pity you now, for Mademoiselle Crystal will surely ask you all those questions, and by the Lord I marvel how you will answer them." He fell back exhausted, in a dead faint no doubt, and St. Genis with a wild cry like that of a beast in fury seized the nearest weapon that came to his hand--a heavy oak chair which stood against the wall in the corridor--and brandished it over his head. He would--had not Crystal at once interposed--have killed de Marmont with one blow: even so he tried to avoid Crystal in order to forge for himself a clear passage, to free himself from all trammels so that he might indulge his lust to kill. "Take the sick man away! quickly!" cried Crystal to the stretcher bearers. And they--realising the danger--the awfulness of the tragedy which, with that clumsy weapon wielded by a man who was maddened with rage, was hovering in the air, hurried over the threshold with their burden as fast as they could: then out into the street: and Crystal seizing hold of the front door shut it to with a loud bang after them. VI Then with a cry that was just primitive in its passion--savage almost like that of a lioness in the desert who has been robbed of her young--she turned upon St. Genis: "Where is he now?" she called, and her voice was quite unrecognisable, harsh and hoarse and peremptory. "Crystal, let me assure you," protested Maurice, "that I have already done all that lay in my power. . . ." "Where is he now?" she broke in with the same fierce intensity. She stood there before him--wild, haggard, palpitating--a passionate creature passionately demanding to know where the loved one was. It seemed as if she would have torn the words out of St. Genis' throat, so bitter and intense was the look of contempt and of hatred wherewith she looked on him.