"Had you a mother, Monsieur?"

This unexpected question made him widen his eyes. "Truly, else I had

not been here."

"Did she die in peace?"

He frowned. "It matters not how she died." He sat on the edge of the

table and swung one leg to and fro. "Some men would give their chance

of heaven for a taste of those lips."

"Your chance of heaven, Monsieur, is remote." The setting sun came in

through the door and filled her eyes with a golden haze. If there was

any fear, the pride on her face hid it.

Advertisement..

"Ye gods, but you are a beauty! I can wait no longer for that kiss."

His leg slid from the table. He walked toward her, and she shrank back

till she met with the wall. He sprang forward, laughing. She

struggled in his strong arms, uselessly. With one hand he pressed up

her chin and kissed her squarely on the lips. Then he let her go. She

drew her hand across her mouth and spat upon the floor.

"What! So soon, Madame?"

Her bosom rose and fell quickly, as much from rage and hate as from the

exertion of the struggle.

"God will punish you, Monsieur, as he punishes all men who abuse their

strength as you have done,--punish you for the misery you have brought

upon me."

"What! and I bring you love?"

She wiped her lips again, this time on her sleeve.

"Does it burn like that, then?" laughing.

"It is poison," simply.

Outside the Chevalier writhed and twisted and strained. The agony!

She was alone in there, helpless. To be free, free! He wept, strove

vainly to loose his bonds. He cried aloud in his anguish. And the

vicomte heard him. He came to the door where he could see his enemy in

torture and at the same time prevent madame's escape.

"Is that you, Chevalier? Do you recollect the coin? I am a generous

debtor. I am paying you a hundred for one. Madame and I shall soon be

on the way to Montreal. Remember her kindly. And you will tarry here

till they find you, eh?"

"Vicomte, you were a brave man once. Be brave again. Do not torture

me like this. Take your sword and run it through my heart, and I shall

thank you."

Somberly the vicomte gazed down at him. He drowned the glimmer of pity

in the thought of how this man had thwarted him in the past. "What!"

he said, "spoil the comedy with a death-scene? I am too much of an

artist, Monsieur. I had rather you should live." He went back into

the hut. "The Chevalier grows restive, like an audience which can not

see what is going on behind the curtain. Will you give me a kiss of

your own volition, or must I use force again? It is like sin; the

first step leads to another."




Most Popular