"First, they will murder him," replied Rouge, significantly; "afterwards his body will disappear. We have chemists who do these things. Mr. Mallow will be no more." "But the police?" "Eh! what is it that can be done by them? No body, no murder, no trial. Madame and Monsieur the doctor they know well what to do. There is no one else who has seen Mr. Mallow enter--no one. Trall can speak, I can speak; but," with a shrug, "will he speak?" "I hope so," said Jim, anxiously. "You came here to speak." "Behold, Monsieur, I do so; and why? Figure to yourself the reason." Rouge rose slowly from his chair. "I--I am no Anarchist." "You--are--no--Anarchist?" repeated Aldean, stupefied. "No, I am become one to destroy them. It is my vengeance." "Vengeance, Monsieur Rouge?" "That is not my name. I am Emile Durand, citizen of Paris, who devotes himself to destroying those who would destroy the world. Ha! ha! Superb, magnificent. Monsieur," with a sudden solemnity of tone, "I avenge my wife and my child." "Why, did the Anarchists kill----" "Yes." Rouge covered his face, and dropped back into the chair, sobbing. "Ah, yes, alas! My dear Sophie, my little child! the good God was silent, and they died--died, and I--I still live." Lord Aldean looked with pity on the frame of the man, shaken with the violence of his grief. He succumbed to a veritable nerve-storm which swept over him. He wept, he cried aloud, he rolled in his chair, until, beaten and prostrate, he fell back limply. "My poor fellow, I am sorry for you. Some wine----" "No, no; Monsieur need not give himself the trouble. No wine." After a time a faint colour came back to him. With an effort his muscles reasserted themselves, and he pulled himself together. But he kept his eyes fixedly on the floor, and spoke rapidly, though almost inaudibly. "Monsieur, five years ago I was a chemist in Paris--Rue Flaubert--and, my faith, what a charming shop! Sophie, my dear wife, was there, and the little one, an adorable little one of four years. Ah, how I loved them--how happy we were! Monsieur, that she-devil of a Madame commanded that Paris should be terrorized by bombs. She wished for a revolution. Close by my little shop a bomb was thrown one night. It burst. Oh, most terrible name of names! Shall I ever forget the bursting of that hell-bomb? It killed my Sophie and my dear little Therese." His voice broke with a dry sob. "They were buried in the ruins of our happy home. I lived; conceive to yourself, Monsieur, I lived. Yes," his voice rose, "to destroy those who destroyed them." Rouge flung up his arms with a theatrical gesture of despair, and paced hurriedly to and fro. Aldean did not speak. He did not know what to say in the face of such grief.