tter's wrath-filled eyes were drawing
him against his will.

At the young man's ominous words, M. le Comte's sunken cheeks grew a
shade more pale.

"What catastrophe, _mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, "could fall on my house
that would be worse than twenty years of exile?"

"An alliance with a traitor, M. le Comte," said St. Genis firmly.

A gasp went round the room, a sigh, a cry. The women looked in mute
horror from one man to the other, the men already had their right hand
on their swords. But Clyffurde's eyes were fixed upon Crystal, who pale,
silent, rigid as a marble statue, with lips parted and nostrils
quivering, stood not five paces away from him, her dilated eyes
wandering ceaselessly from the face of St. Genis to that of de Marmont
and thence to that of her father. But beyond that look of tense
excitement she revealed nothing of what she thought and felt.

Already de Marmont--his hand upon his sword--had advanced menacingly
towards St. Genis.

"M. le Marquis," he said between set teeth, "you will, by God! eat those
words, or----"

"Eat my words, man?" retorted St. Genis with a harsh laugh. "By Heaven!
have I not come here on purpose to throw my words into your lying face?"

There was a brief but violent skirmish, for de Marmont had made a
movement as if he meant to spring at his rival's throat, and General
Marchand and the Vicomte de Genevois, who happened to be near, had much
ado to seize and hold him: even so they could not stop the hoarse cries
which he uttered:

"Liar! Liar! Liar! Let me go! Let me get to him! I must kill him! I must
kill him!"

The Comte interposed his dignified person between the two men.

"Maurice," he said, in tones of calm and dispassionate reproof, "your
conduct is absolutely unjustifiable. You seem to forget that you are in
the presence of ladies and of my guests. If you had a quarrel with M. de
Marmont. . . ."

"A quarrel, my dear Comte?" exclaimed St. Genis, "nay, 'tis no quarrel I
have with him: and my conduct would have been a thousand times more vile
if I had not come to-night and stopped his hand from touching that of
Mlle. Crystal de Cambray--his hand which was engaged less than two hours
ago in affixing to the public buildings of Grenoble the infamous message
of the Corsican brigand to the army and the people of France."

A hoarse murmur--a sure sign that men or women are afraid--came from
every corner of the room.

"The message?--What message?"

Some people tu