The Bronze Eagle

Chapter 5

THE RIVALS

The weather did not improve as the night wore on: soon a thin, cold drizzle added to the dreariness and to Maurice de St. Genis' ever-growing discomfort.

He had started off gaily enough, cheered by Crystal's warm look of encouragement and comforted by the feeling of certainty that he would get even with that mysterious enemy who had so impudently thrown himself athwart a plan which had service of the King for its sole object.

Maurice had not exchanged confidences with Crystal since the adventure, but his ideas--without his knowing it--absolutely coincided with hers. He, too, was quite sure that no common footpad had engineered their daring attack. Positive knowledge of the money and its destination had been the fountain from which had sprung the comedy of the masked highwayman and his little band of robbers. Maurice mentally reckoned that there must have been at least half a dozen of these bravos--of the sort that in these times were easily enough hired in any big city to play any part, from that of armed escort to nervous travellers to that of seeker of secret information for the benefit of either political party--loafers that hung round the wine-shops in search of a means of earning a few days' rations, discharged soldiers of the Empire some of them, whose loyalty to the Restoration had been questioned from the first.

Maurice had no doubt that whatever motive had actuated the originator of the bold plan to possess himself of twenty-five million francs, he had deliberately set to work to employ men of that type to help him in his task.

It had all been very audacious and--Maurice was bound to admit--very well carried out. As for the motive, he was never for a moment in doubt. It was a Bonapartist plot, of that he felt sure, as well as of the fact that Victor de Marmont was the originator of it all. He probably had not taken any active part in the attack, but he had employed the men--Maurice would have taken an oath on that!

The Comte de Cambray must have let fall an unguarded hint in the course of his last interview with de Marmont at Brestalou, and when Victor went away disgraced and discomfited he, no doubt, thought to take his revenge in the way most calculated to injure both the Comte and the royalist cause.

Satisfied with this mental explanation of past events, St. Genis had ridden on in the darkness, his spirits kept up with hopes and thoughts of a glaring counter revenge. But his limbs were still stiff and bruised from the cramped position in which he had lain for so long, and presently, when the cold drizzle began to penetrate to his bones, his enthusiasm and confidence dwindled. The village seemed to recede further and further into the distance. He thought when he had ridden through it earlier in the evening that it was not very far from the scene of the attack--a dozen kilomtres perhaps--now it seemed more like thirty; he thought too that it was a village of some considerable size--five hundred souls or perhaps more--he had noticed as he rode through it a well-illuminated, one-storied house, and the words "Dbit de vins" and "Chambres pour voyageurs" painted in bold characters above the front door. But now he had ridden on and on along the dark road for what seemed endless hours--unconscious of time save that it was dragging on leaden-footed and wearisome . . . and still no light on ahead to betray the presence of human habitations, no distant church bells to mark the progress of the night.

At last, in desperation, Maurice de St. Genis had thought of wrapping himself in his cloak and getting what rest he could by the roadside, for he was getting very tired and saddle-sore, when on his left he perceived in the far distance, glimmering through the mist, two small lights like bright eyes shining in the darkness.

What kind of a way led up to those welcome lights, Maurice had, of course, no idea; but they proclaimed at any rate the presence of human beings, of a house, of the warmth of fire; and without hesitation the young man turned his horse's head at right angles from the road.

He had crossed a couple of ploughed fields and an intervening ditch, when in the distance to his right and behind him he heard the sound of horses at a brisk trot, going in the direction of Lyons.

Maurice drew rein for a moment and listened until the sound came nearer. There must have been at least a score of mounted men--a military patrol sent out by M. le Comte d'Artois, no doubt, and now on its way back to Lyons. Just for a second or two the young man had thoughts of joining up with the party and asking their help or their escort: he even gave a vigorous shout which, however, was lost in the clang and clatter of horses' hoofs and of the accompanying jingle of metal.

He turned his horse back the way he had come; but before he had recrossed one of the ploughed fields, the troop of mounted men--whatever they were--had passed by, and Maurice was left once more in solitude, shouting and calling in vain.

There was nothing for it then, but to turn back again, and to make his way as best he could toward those inviting lights. In any case nothing could have been done in this pitch-dark night against the highway thieves, and St. Genis had no fear that M. le Comte d'Artois would fail to send him help for his expedition against them on the morrow.

The lights on ahead were getting perceptibly nearer, soon they detached themselves still more clearly in the gloom--other lights appeared in the immediate neighbourhood--too few for a village--thought Maurice, and grouped closely together, suggesting a main building surrounded by other smaller ones close by.

Soon the whole outline of the house could be traced through the enveloping darkness: two of the windows were lighted from within, and an oil lamp, flickering feebly, was fixed in a recess just above the door. The welcome words: "Chambres pour voyageurs. Aristide Briot, propritaire," greeted Maurice's wearied eyes as he drew rein. Good luck was apparently attending him for, thus picking his way across fields, he had evidently struck an out-of-the-way hostelry on some bridle path off the main road, which was probably a short cut between Chambry and Vienne.

Be that as it may, he managed to dismount--stiff as he was--and having tried the door and found it fastened, he hammered against it with his boot.

A few moments later, the bolts were drawn and an elderly man in blue blouse and wide trousers, his sabots stuffed with straw, came shuffling out of the door.

"Who's there?" he called in a feeble, querulous voice.

"A traveller--on horseback," replied Maurice. "Come, petit pre," he added more impatiently, "will you take my horse or call to one of your men?"

"It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me."

"Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?"

"It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full."

"There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house.

The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin--took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within.

Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where.

He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth.

Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience.

The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door.

"Well now, pre Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?"

"Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly.

"And a bottle of wine, of course."

"Yes. A bottle of wine."

"Well! be quick about it, petit pre. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese."

"Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently.

"Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?"

"You'll pay for it all right enough?"

"I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger."

The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream.

Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him.

"You said your house was full, petit pre," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place."

"The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chambry. We get plenty of travellers this way!"

"Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you."

"That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go."

St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork.

"A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?"

"Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom."

"A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit pre?"

"Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son."

Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference.

"Petit pre," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit pre," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain."

While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes.

Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table:

"I thought you said that you were hungry."

"So I was, petit pre," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care."

"Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning."

"That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend."

"But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him."

St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders.

"I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper.

"Come, petit pre, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious.

Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin, he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them.

So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot.

A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door.

"Show me the way, petit pre," he said.

And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs.

On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly:

"That's his room."

"I thank you, petit pre," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly."

"He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment.

A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help.

But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed.

But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful.

He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge:

"Who goes there?"

A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment.

"Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed.

At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold.

Then he turned back to Aristide Briot.

"That's all right, petit pre," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!"

As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors.

With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask.

The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation.

Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame.

"And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?"

His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope.

"You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy."

"And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?"

"Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely.

"And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity.

"Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool.

"Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat.

A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw.

St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed.

"You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet.

But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat.

"I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist.

Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt.

An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side.

"Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ."

"Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper."

"Let go my throat!"

"I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one."

"Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me."

"Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate."

"Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness."

"Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation."

"Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?"

"Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England."

He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet.

"Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love."

"Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts."

Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful.

"I listen," said St. Genis curtly.

And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?"

"In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now."

"That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning."

St. Genis frowned in puzzlement:

"I don't understand you," he said curtly.

"Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le prfet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge."

"Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist.

"Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?"

"And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out."

"Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?"

St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed.

It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them:

"You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied."

"I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?"

"You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well."

"Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves."

Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity."

"I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew."

"By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ."

"You mean . . ."

"That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night."

"But if the King is to have the money, he . . ."

"He will never know from me, from whence it comes."

"He will wish to know. . . ."

"Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more."

"You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided.

"All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain.

"Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ."

"But what?"

"Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ."

He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman.

When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks.

So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes.

Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task.

"It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?"

The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness.

"Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly.

"Have you any cause to hate me?"

"Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?"

"Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?"

"Certainly not."

"You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?"

His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement.

"I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power."

"You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope."

Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room.

Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts.

"Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?"

"Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly.

"And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont."

He drew breath, for he had half exhausted himself with the volubility and vehemence of his diction. Also he seemed to be waiting for some encouragement from Clyffurde, who, however, gave him none, but sat unmoved and apparently supremely indifferent, while a suffering heart was pouring out its wails of agony into his unresponsive ear.

"The reason," resumed St. Genis somewhat more calmly, "why M. le Comte de Cambray was opposed to our union, was purely a financial one. Our families are of equal distinction and antiquity, but alas! our fortunes are also of equal precariousness: we, Sir, of the old noblesse gave up our all, in order to follow our King into exile. Victor de Marmont was rich. His fortune could have repurchased the ancient Cambray estates and restored to that honoured name all the brilliance which it had sacrificed for its principles."

Still Clyffurde remained irritatingly silent, and St. Genis asked him somewhat tartly:

"I trust I am making myself clear, Sir?"

"Perfectly, so far," replied the other quietly, "but I am afraid I don't quite see how you propose that I could serve Mlle. Crystal in all this."

"You can with one word, one generous action, Sir, put me in a position to claim Crystal as my wife, and give her that happiness which she craves for, and which is rightly her due."

A slight lifting of the eyebrows was Clyffurde's only comment.

"Mr. Clyffurde," now said Maurice, with the obvious firm resolve to end his own hesitancy at last, "you say yourself that by taking this money to His Majesty, or rather to his minister, you, individually, will get neither glory nor even gratitude--your name will not appear in the transaction at all. I am quoting your own words, remember. That is so, is it not?"

"It is so--certainly."

"But, Sir, if a Frenchman--a royalist--were able to render his King so signal a service, he would not only gain gratitude, but recognition and glory. . . . A man who was poor and obscure would at once become rich and distinguished. . . ."

"And in a position to marry the woman he loved," concluded Bobby, smiling.

Then as Maurice said nothing, but continued to regard him with glowing, anxious eyes, he added, smiling not altogether kindly this time,

"I think I understand, M. de St. Genis."

"And . . . what do you say?" queried the other excitedly.

"Let me make the situation clear first, as I understand it, Monsieur," continued Bobby drily. "You are--and I mistake not--suggesting at the present moment that I should hand over the twenty-five millions to you, in order that you should take them yourself to the King in Paris, and by this act obtain not only favours from him, but probably a goodly share of the money, which you--presumably--will have forced some unknown highwayman to give up to you. Is that it?"

"It was not money for myself I thought of, Sir," murmured St. Genis somewhat shamefacedly.

"No, no, of course not," rejoined Clyffurde with a tone of sarcasm quite foreign to his usual easy-going good-nature. "You were thinking of the King's favours, and of a future of distinction and glory."

"I was thinking chiefly of Crystal, Sir," said the other haughtily.

"Quite so. You were thinking of winning Mlle. Crystal by a . . . a subterfuge."

"An innocent one, Sir, you will admit. I should not be robbing you in any way. And remember that it is only Crystal's hand that is denied me: her love I have already won."

A look of pain--quickly suppressed and easily hidden from the other's self-absorbed gaze--crossed the Englishman's earnest face.

"I do remember that, Monsieur," he said, "else I certainly would never lend a hand in the . . . subterfuge."

"You will do it then?" queried the other eagerly.

"I have not said so."

"Ah! but you will," pleaded Maurice hotly. "Sir! the eternal gratitude of two faithful hearts would be yours always--for Crystal will know it all, once we are married, I promise you that she will. And in the midst of her happiness she will find time to bless your generosity and your selflessness . . . whilst I . . ."

"Enough, I beg of you, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde now, with angry impatience. "Believe me! I do not hug myself with any thought of my own virtues, nor do I desire any gratitude from you: if I hand over the money to you, it is sorely against my better judgment and distinctly against my duty: but since that duty chiefly lies in being assured that the King of France will receive the money safely, why then by handing it over to you I have that assurance, and my conscience will rest at comparative ease. You shall have the money, Sir, and you shall marry Mlle. Crystal on the strength of the King's gratitude towards you. And Mlle. Crystal will be happy--if you keep silence over this transaction. But for God's sake let's say no more about it: for of a truth you and I are playing but a sorry rle this night."

"A sorry rle?" protested the other.

"Yes, a sorry rle. Are you not deceiving a woman? Am I not running counter to my duty?"

"I but deceive Crystal temporarily. I love her and only deceive in order to win her. The end justifies the means: Nor do you, in my opinion, run counter to your duty. . . ."

But Clyffurde interrupted him roughly: "I pray you, Sir, make no comment on mine actions. My own silent comments on these are hard enough to bear: your eulogies would raise bounds to my patience."

Whereupon he walked quickly up to the bed and from under the mattress extricated five leather wallets which he threw one by one upon the table.

"Here is the King's money," he said curtly; "you could never have taken it from me by force, but I give it over to you willingly now. If within a week from now I hear that the King has not received it, I will proclaim you a liar and a thief."

"Sir . . . you dare . . ."

"Nay! we'll not quarrel. I don't want to do you any hurt. You know from experience that I could kill you or wring your neck as easily as you could kill a child; but Mlle. Crystal's love is like a protecting shield all round you, so I'll not touch you again. But don't ask me to measure my words, for that is beyond my power. Take the money, M. de St. Genis, and earn not only the King's gratitude but also Mlle. Crystal's, which is far better worth having. And now, I pray you, leave me to rest. You must be tired too. And our mutual company hath become irksome to us both."

He turned his back on St. Genis and sat down at the table, drawing paper, pen and inkhorn toward him, and with clumsy, left hand began laboriously to form written characters, as if St. Genis' presence or departure no longer concerned him.

An importunate beggar could not have been more humiliatingly dismissed. St. Genis had flushed to the very roots of his hair. He would have given much to be able to chastise the insolent Englishman then and there. But the latter had not boasted when he said that he could wring Maurice's neck as easily with his left hand as with his right, and Maurice within his heart was bound to own that the boast was no idle one. He knew that in a hand-to-hand fight he was no match for that heavy-framed, hard-fisted product of a fog-ridden land.

He would not trust himself to speak any more, lest another word cause prudence to yield to exasperation. Another moment of hesitation, a shrug of the shoulders--perhaps a muttered curse or two--and St. Genis picked up one by one the wallets from the table.

Clyffurde never looked up while he did so: he continued to form awkward, illegible characters upon the paper before him, as if his very life depended on being able to write with his left hand.

The next moment St. Genis had walked rapidly out of the room. Bobby left off writing, threw down his pen, and resting his elbow upon the table and his head in his hand, he remained silent and motionless while St. Genis' quick and firm footsteps echoed first along the corridor, then down the creaking stairs and finally on the floor below. After which there came the sound of the opening and shutting of a door, the dragging of a chair across a wooden floor, and nothing more.

All was still in the house at last. The old-fashioned clock downstairs struck half-past two.

With a smothered cry of angry contempt Clyffurde seized on the papers that lay scattered on the table and crushed them up in his hand with a gesture of passionate wrath.

Then he strode up to the window, threw open the rickety casement and let the pure cold air of night pour into the room and dissipate the atmosphere of cowardice, of falsehood and of unworthy love that still seemed to hang there where M. le Marquis de St. Genis had basely bargained for his own ends, and outraged the very name of Love by planning base deeds in its name.