bitterness as he brought his clenched
fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a
fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only
one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one
creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath
contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he
continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed
excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I
tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in
that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They
have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will
no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old
regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and
intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing
excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still
their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds
of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to
them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh!
I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!"

"And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said
Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's
violent agitation.

"No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom
Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed
at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to
Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife
treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angouleme and
the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc
de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray
will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me."

The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred
became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse
and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and
drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some
of the wine was spilled on the table.

There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which
seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air