, because I must confess
that I thought that nice young Englishman had acted pour le bon motif."

"How could you think that, _ma tante_?" ejaculated Crystal hotly: "a
good motive? to rob us at dead of night--he, a friend of Victor de
Marmont--an adherent of the Corsican! . . ."

"Englishmen are not adherents of the Corsican, my dear," retorted Madame
drily, "and until Maurice's appearance this morning, I was satisfied
that the money would ultimately reach His Majesty's own hands."

"But we were taking the money to His Majesty ourselves."

"And Victor de Marmont was after it. Mr. Clyffurde may have known that.
. . . Remember, my dear," continued Madame, "that these were my
impressions last night. Maurice's account of the den of cutthroats has
modified these entirely."

Again Crystal was silent. The frown had darkened on her face: there was
a line of bitter resentment round her lips--a look of contempt, of hate,
of a desire to hurt, in her eyes.

"Maurice," she said abruptly at last.

"Yes?"

"I did wound that thief, did I not?"

"Yes. In the shoulder . . . it gave me a slight advantage . . ." he said
with affected modesty.

"I am glad. And you . . . you were able to punish him too, I hope."

"Yes. I punished him."

He was watching her very closely, for inwardly he had been wondering how
she had taken his news. She was strangely agitated, so Maurice's
troubled, jealous heart told him; her face was flushed, her eyes were
wet and a tiny lace handkerchief which she twisted between her fingers
was nothing but a damp rag.

"Oh! I hate him! I hate him!" she murmured as with an impatient gesture
she brushed the gathering tears from her eyes. "Father had been so kind
to him--so were we all. How could he? how could he?"

"His duty, I suppose," said St. Genis magnanimously.

"His duty?" she retorted scornfully.

"To the cause which he served."

"Duty to a usurper, a brigand, the enemy of his country. Was he, then,
paid to serve the Corsican?"

"Probably."

"His being in trade--buying gloves at Grenoble--was all a plant then?"

"I am afraid so," said St. Genis, who much against his will now was
sinking ever deeper and deeper in the quagmire of lying and cowardice
into which he had allowed himself to drift.

"And he was nothing better than a spy!"

No one, not even Crystal herself, could have defined with what feelings
she said this. Was it solely contempt? or did a strange mixture of
regret and sorrow mi