d his marshals in their rightful place on a level with
the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that
all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the
Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the
old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look
on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his
house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt
with de Marmont gold."

"But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for
his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man.

"Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily,
"one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his
family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and
very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing.
She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that
narrow society formed by impecunious _emigres_. . . ."

"And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath.

"She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont
with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised
from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl
dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ."

"Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have
consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?"

"Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the
shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has
disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions
as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her
father."

Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but
this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could
he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a
man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and
Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would
never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the
bitter words died upon his lips.

"And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he
said.

"I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the
only woman I have ever cared for. She wi