“Now, madame, see here; I don’t want any heroics. I am going to take it quietly, and I advise you to do the same. Now, what I have to say is just this. I made a mistake in marrying you.” “The mistake was mutual.” “Now, madame, there is no cause for interruption. You shall have the story right away, and if you have not enough of it by the time I have done, it will be your fault and not mine. Look you here, if I made a mistake you made a greater. Have you ever heard of a crime called bigamy?” “Yes,” returned Lucille coolly. “It is a weakness of mine--I committed bigamy when I married you.” “And you tell me that without turning a hair?” exclaimed the American, fairly taken aback at her audacity. “Then you know I could throw you into jail, madame?” “You can do nothing of the sort,” she returned. “Now stop further explanation; you see there is no necessity. I have saved you the trouble of inflicting a long story on me with your terrible nasal twang, and I am thankful.” “Look you here, madame,” returned the colonel, white with passion. “Don’t you rile me too much. There is a limit, I tell you, and you have about reached it and a bit over.” “Oh! I am not in the least afraid of you. For the reason that causes you not to hurl me into jail will prevent you from murdering me. And less than a murder would not do; even your countrymen don’t care about wife--I beg your pardon--women-beaters.” The colonel ground his teeth and clenched his hands, but kept tranquil. “Madame, you are right,” he said at last. “Quite right, I am not going to murder you. Anything of that sort I can leave to your husband--when he gets out of prison. But to come to business. If you take my advice you will make tracks. I have had private information that you have escaped by the skin of your teeth. They have got your husband and they wanted you, but the prosecutors seem to be economical, and they are satisfied with him. So instead of being taken to the Tombs on your arrival in New York, you were allowed to come home with me. And a nice home you have made it, madame,” and he looked round the room crammed with costly gimcracks. “It has cost me a pretty penny.” “Very likely,” she replied calmly, “but you can afford it.” “Yes, fortunately, I can, madame. Salem Clutterbuck is good for millions.” “You had better not boast of your wealth, or you will make me avaricious.” “Avaricious! Why, what has my wealth to do with you, madame? All that is past and gone. We squared up when Mrs. Clutterbuck returned to Mme. Vin-jay.” “Not quite,” said Lucille with a cold smile. “You must be a bad man of business, and yet you have realized a fortune.” “Yes, I have made my pile, madame,” he returned, with a vague feeling of uneasiness, “and as to my being a man of business, why you just ask anyone who knows me.” “There is no necessity,” said Lucille, “because I can test you myself. As a man of business, how much do you intend to pay me to go away?”