Smothering his malicious laughter, Blassemare glided past him, and opening a door exclaimed-- "Madame, a gentleman desires the honor of an interview; Monsieur Le Prun attends you." Le Prun entered; a step was heard in a recess opening from the room, and a form entered, before which he recoiled as from a malignant spectre. "Is it _this_ one or the other?" asked Blassemare, with much simplicity. Le Prun did not hear him; he was astounded and overpowered in the presence of the phantom-like form that stood in its strange draperies of flannel at the other end of the chamber, eyeing him askance, with a look of more than mortal hate. "It is not fair to disturb such a meeting; the domestic affections, eh? had best be indulged in private." So saying, Blassemare abruptly withdrew, and shut the door sharply upon the pair. Roused by the sound, Le Prun attempted to follow him, but his agitation prevented his being able to open the door, and he cursed Blassemare from the bottom of his soul, in the belief that he had bolted it. "So, face to face at last," she said; "for years you have escaped me; for years your agents have persecuted and imprisoned me. I heard of your courtship--aye, and your marriage, and rejoiced at it, for I knew it could bring you nothing but grief; accursed monster, murderer of my sister, attempted murderer of myself, seducer and betrayer of the girl you call your wife." "I say, she is my wife," stammered Le Prun, recovering his voice. "No, miscreant! that she cannot be; well you know that _I_ am your wife." "It is a lie; I have that under your own hand; it is a lie, a lie." "And do you fancy that, because intimidated by a murderer, I signed the paper you speak of, the document has lost its force, and I ceased to be your wife? No, no; adulterer and poisoner that you are, I retain the right to blast you; you shall yet taste retribution; you shall perish by a bloody end." XVII.--CONCLUSION. Blassemare read in Le Prun's countenance that there was an end of their connection. He was, however, a man of resource, and whatever the loss involved in the severance, he was not dismayed. He made up his mind to quarrel with _eclat_, and sitting himself down upon the window-sill, laughed with a sardonic glee at the rencontre he had just brought about. In a little while, however, he began to wonder at its length, and after a while he was startled by Le Prun's voice calling him by name, and at the same time by a furious knocking at the door. "Hey!--why don't you come here if you want me?" cried Blassemare. "I can't--you _know_ I can't--you have locked the door." "I've _not_--try it," replied Blassemare, coolly. In a moment more Le Prun entered, trembling like a man in an ague, his face livid and covered with a cold sweat. "That, that accursed fiend, she has--the murderess--she attempted my life--upon my soul she did." There was some blood upon his hand, and more upon his lace cravat.