“Stop!” returned Gervase somewhat moodily, “I am not so sure about that. I _have_ seen her before, though where I cannot tell. But the fire that stirs my pulses now seems to spring from some old passion suddenly revived, and the eyes of the woman we are both mad for--well! they do not inspire holiness, my dear friend! No,--neither in you nor in me! Let us be honest with each other. There is something vile in the composition of Madame la Princesse, and it responds to something equally vile in ourselves. We shall be dragged down by the force of it,--_tant pis pour nous!_ I am sorrier for you than for myself, for you are a good fellow, _au fond_; you have what the world is learning to despise--sentiment. I have none; for as I told you before, I have no heart, but I have passions--tigerish ones--which must be humored; in fact, I make it my business in life to humor them.” “Do you intend to humor them in this instance?” “Assuredly! If I can.” “Then,--friend as you have been, you can be friend no more,” said Denzil fiercely. “My God! Do you not understand? My blood is as warm as yours,--I will not yield to you one smile, one look from Ziska! No!--I will kill you first!” Gervase looked at him calmly. “Will you? _Pauvre garçon!_ You are such a boy still, Denzil,--by-the-bye, how old are you? Ah, I remember now,--twenty-two. Only twenty-two, and I am thirty-eight! So in the measure of time alone, your life is more valuable to you than mine is to me. If you choose, therefore, you can kill me,--now, if you like! I have a very convenient dagger in my belt--I think it has a point--which you are welcome to use for the purpose; but, for heaven’s sake, don’t rant about it--do it! You can kill me--of course you can; but you cannot--mark this well, Denzil!--you cannot prevent my loving the same woman whom you love. I think instead of raving about the matter here in the moonlight, which has the effect of making us look like two orthodox villains in a set stage-scene, we’d better make the best of it, and resolve to abide by the lady’s choice in the matter. What say you? You have known her for many days,--I have known her for two hours. You have had the first innings, so you cannot complain.” Here he playfully unfastened the Bedouin knife which hung at his belt and offered it to Denzil, holding it delicately by the glittering blade. “One thrust, my brave boy!” he said. “And you will stop the Ziska fever in my veins at once and forever. But, unless you deal the murderer’s blow, the fever will go on increasing till it reaches its extremest height, and then …” “And then?” echoed Denzil. “Then? Oh--God only knows what then!” Denzil thrust away the offered weapon with a movement of aversion.