The long night dragged on interminably. Like leeches the two McCaskeys clung to their prodigal host, and not until the early hours of morning, when the Count had become sodden, sullen, stupefied, and when they were in a condition little better, did they permit him to leave them. How Hilda got him home she scarcely knew, for she, too, had all but lost command of her senses. There were moments when she fought unavailingly against a mental numbness, a stupor that rolled upward and suffused her like a cloud of noxious vapors, leaving her knees weak, her hands clumsy, her vision blurred; again waves of deathly illness surged over her. Under and through it all, however, her subconscious will to conquer remained firm. Over and over she told herself: "I'll have the truth and then--I'll make him pay." Courteau followed his wife into her room, and there his maudlin manner changed. He roused himself and smiled at her fatuously; into his eyes flamed a desire, into his cheeks came a deeper flush. He pawed at her caressingly; he voiced thick, passionate protestations. Hilda had expected nothing less; it was for this that she had bled her flesh and crucified her spirit these many hours. "You're--wonderful woman," the man mumbled as he swayed with her in his arms. "Got all the old charm and more. Game, too!" He laughed foolishly, then in drunken gravity asserted: "Well, I'm the man, the stronger vessel. To turn hate into love, that--" "You've taken your price. You've had your hour," she told him. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, her teeth were clenched as if in a final struggle for self-restraint. Courteau pressed his lips to hers; then in a sudden frenzy he crushed her closer and fell to kissing her cheeks, her neck, her throat. He mistook her shudder of abhorrence for a thrill responsive to his passion, and hiccoughed: "You're mine again, all mine, and--I'm mad about you. I'm aflame. This is like the night of our marriage, what?" "Are you satisfied, now that you've made me suffer? Do you still imagine I care for that foolish boy?" "Phillips? Bah! A noisy swine." Again the Count chuckled, but this time his merriment ran away with him until he shook and until tears came to his eyes. Without reason Hilda joined in his laughter. Together they stood rocking, giggling, snickering, as if at some excruciating jest. "He--he tried to steal you--from me. From ME. Imagine it! Then he struck me. Well, where is he now, eh?" "I never dreamed that you cared enough for me to--do what you did. To risk so much." "Risk?" Hilda nodded, and her loose straw-gold hair brushed Courteau's cheek. "Don't pretend any longer. I knew from the start. But you were jealous. When a woman loses the power to excite jealousy it's a sign she's growing old and ugly and losing her fire. She can face anything except that." "Fire!" Henri exclaimed. "Parbleu! Don't I know you to be a volcano?"