hy scoundrel of a mulatto, who says nothing, but thinks evil and
would do it, I will deliver him over to De Chemerant, who will give me a
good account of him. If it was not for soiling the sword of a gentleman
by dipping it in his slave blood, I myself would take this vengeance."

Angela exchanged glances with Monmouth, whose imperturbability
exasperated the Gascon. Both of them realized the necessity of calming
the chevalier; his anger might prove dangerous; he must be quieted at
once, without betraying the secret of the prince's disguise.

The young woman said to the adventurer, "All will be explained, sir; my
greatest, my only wrong toward you has been in doubting the generosity
of your character, and the loyalty of your devotion. Father Griffen,
although he answered for you, has been, like myself, deceived as to the
real motive of your intentions; we have believed, and we have been wrong
in so believing, that you were capable of abusing the name which you
have taken. In order to escape a fresh danger with which you seemed to
threaten us, it became necessary to attempt a means, very uncertain,
doubtless, but which might succeed. I could not escape--that would be
only to meet you. I gave the necessary orders, then, that you should be
introduced here with De Chemerant, hoping that you would surprise me,
suddenly, and thus become a witness of the tender intimacy which linked
me with the captain----"

"How! did you arrange this agreeable scene for me?" cried the Gascon
furiously, "and you dare say it to my face? But this is the last degree
of degradation and shame, madame. And for what purpose, if you please,
did you wish to prove to me the abominable intimacy which binds you to
this bandit?"

"To the end that it should be impossible for you to take me with you.
Monsieur De Chemerant being a witness to my culpable intimacy with
Captain Whirlwind, you could not, you who are passing as the Duke of
Monmouth, take with you a woman, who, in the eyes of the French envoy,
is as culpable as I would appear to him--as culpable as I am."

"You acknowledge it, then, madame?"

"Yes, and again yes, sir! Do not be generous by halves; what does it
matter to you whom I love--a slave, as you say?"

"How, madame? What does it matter to me? have you then sworn to drive me
mad? And what does it serve that I play the part of your husband? Does
he really exist? Is he here, and do you not avail yourself of the
mistakes of which I am a vi