look of
passionate hatred with which she regarded him as she spoke, positively
appalled him.

"M. le Comte," he said firmly, "I cannot let you go like this, whilst
such horrible thoughts of me exist in your mind. England gave you
shelter for three and twenty years; in the name of my country's kindness
and hospitality toward you, I--as one of her sons--demand that you tell
me frankly and clearly exactly what I am supposed to have done to
justify this extraordinary hatred and contempt which you and
Mademoiselle Crystal seem now to have for me."

"One of England's sons, Monsieur!" retorted the Comte equally firmly.
"Nay! you are not even that. England stands for right and for justice,
for our legitimate King and the punishment of the usurper."

"Great God!" he exclaimed, more and more bewildered now, "are you
accusing me of treachery against mine own country? This will I allow no
man to do, not even . . ."

"Then, Sir, I pray you," rejoined Crystal proudly, "go and seek a
quarrel with the man who has unmasked you; who caught you red-handed
with the money in your possession which you had stolen from us, who
forced you to give up what you had stolen, and whom then you and your
friend Victor de Marmont waylaid and robbed once more. Go then, Mr.
Clyffurde, and seek a quarrel with the Marquis de St. Genis, who has
already struck you in the face once and no doubt will be ready to do so
again."

And what of Clyffurde's thoughts while the woman whom he loved with all
the strength of his lonely heart poured forth these hideous insults upon
him? Amazement, then wrath, bewilderment, then final hopelessness, all
these sensations ran riot through his brain.

St. Genis had behaved like an abominable blackguard! this he gathered
from what she said: he had lied like a mean skunk and betrayed the man
who had rendered him an infinitely great service. Of him Clyffurde
wouldn't even think! Such despicable, crawling worms did exist on God's
earth: he knew that! but he possessed the happy faculty, the sunny
disposition that is able to pass a worm by and ignore its existence
while keeping his eyes fixed upon all that is beautiful in earth and in
the sky. Of St. Genis, therefore, he would not think; some day, perhaps,
he might be able to punish him--but not now--not while this poor,
forlorn, heartsick girl pinned her implicit faith upon that wretched
worm and bestowed on him the priceless guerdon of her love. An infinity
of pity rose in