ely.

Steinmetz was holding on to the back of a high chair with both hands,
breathing heavily. His face was still livid. That which had been white
in his eyes was quite red.

De Chauxville was crawling toward the revolver in the corner of the
room, but he was almost fainting. It was a question whether he would
last long enough to reach the fire-arm. There was a bright patch of red
in either liver-colored cheek; his lips were working convulsively. And
Steinmetz saw him in time. He seized him by the collar of his coat and
dragged him back. He placed his foot on the little pistol and faced De
Chauxville with glaring eyes. De Chauxville rose to his feet, and for a
moment the two men looked into each other's souls. The Frenchman's face
was twisted with pain. No word was said.

Such was the last reckoning between Karl Steinmetz and the Baron Claude
de Chauxville.

The Frenchman went slowly toward the door. He faltered and looked round
for a chair. He sat heavily down with a little exclamation of pain and
exhaustion, and felt for his pocket-handkerchief. The scented cambric
diffused a faint, dainty odor of violets. He sat forward with his two
hands on his knees, swaying a little from side to side. Presently he
raised his handkerchief to his face. There were tears in his eyes.

Thus the two men waited until De Chauxville had recovered himself
sufficiently to take his departure. The air was full of naked human
passions. It was rather a grewsome scene.

At last the Frenchman stood slowly up, and with characteristic thought
of appearances fingered his torn coat.

"Have you a cloak?" asked Steinmetz.

"No."

The German went to a cupboard in the wall and selected a long
riding-cloak, which he handed to the Frenchman without a word.

Thus Claude de Chauxville walked to the door in a cloak which had
figured at many a Charity League meeting. Assuredly the irony of Fate is
a keener thing than any poor humor we have at our command. When evil is
punished in this present life there is no staying of the hand.

Steinmetz followed De Chauxville through the long passage they had
traversed a few minutes earlier and down the broad staircase. The
servants were waiting at the door with the horse put at the Frenchman's
disposal by Paul.

De Chauxville mounted slowly, heavily, with twitching lips. His face was
set and cold now. The pain was getting bearable, the wounded vanity was
bleeding inwardly. In his dull eyes there was a gleam