"A man can only commit treason against his country," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not a Frenchman." "You were a Frenchman!" she cried. "You asked to be one and you became one. You married me, a Frenchwoman, and you live in France and you've made your fortune in France. It's France that you're betraying." "Don't talk nonsense! And for whose benefit?" "I don't know that, either. For months, for years indeed, the colonel, Bournef, all your former accomplices and yourself have been engaged on an enormous work--yes, enormous, it's their own word--and now it appears that you are fighting over the profits of the common enterprise and the others accuse you of pocketing those profits for yourself alone and of keeping a secret that doesn't belong to you. So that I seem to see something dirtier and more hateful even than treachery, something worthy of a common pickpocket. . . ." The man struck the arm of his chair with his fist: "Enough!" he cried. Coralie seemed in no way alarmed: "Enough," she echoed, "you are right. Enough words between us. Besides, there is one fact that stands out above everything: your flight. That amounts to a confession. You're afraid of the police." He shrugged his shoulders a second time: "I'm afraid of nobody." "Very well, but you're going." "Yes." "Then let's have it out. When are you going?" "Presently, at twelve o'clock." "And if you're arrested?" "I sha'n't be arrested." "If you are arrested, however?" "I shall be let go." "At least there will be an inquiry, a trial?" "No, the matter will be hushed up." "You hope so." "I'm sure of it." "God grant it! And you will leave France, of course?" "As soon as I can." "When will that be?" "In a fortnight or three weeks." "Send me word of the day, so that I may know when I can breathe again." "I shall send you word, Coralie, but for another reason." "What reason?" "So that you may join me." "Join you!" He gave a cruel smile: "You are my wife," he said. "Where the husband goes the wife goes; and you know that, in my religion, the husband has every right over his wife, including that of life and death. Well, you're my wife." Coralie shook her head, and, in a tone of indescribable contempt, answered: "I am not your wife. I feel nothing for you but loathing and horror. I don't wish to see you again, and, whatever happens, whatever you may threaten, I shall not see you again." He rose, and, walking to her, bent in two, all trembling on his legs, he shouted, while again he shook his clenched fists at her: "What's that you say? What's that you dare to say? I, I, your lord and master, order you to join me the moment that I send for you." "I shall not join you. I swear it before God! I swear it as I hope to be saved." He stamped his feet with rage. His face underwent a hideous contortion; and he roared: