he said, "we're used to these differences of opinion. Besides,
it's only Monsieur Radet; he's forever at war with someone or other."

"He ought to be shown the door," the Duc grumbled.

"Oh, as for that," she answered, "we couldn't. My aunt would be
desolated by such a necessity. He is very influential in certain
quarters. My aunt wants to catch him for the--He's going to write an
article."

"He writes too many articles," the Duc said, with heavy displeasure.

"Oh, he has written _one_ too many," she answered, "but that can be
traversed...."

"But no one believes," the Duc objected ... Radet's voice intermittently
broke in upon his _sotto-voce,_ coming to our ears in gusts.

"Haven't I seen you ... and then ... and you offer me the cross ... to
bribe me to silence ... me...."

In the general turning of faces toward the window in which stood Radet
and the other, mine turned too. Radet was a cadaverous, weatherworn,
passion-worn individual, badger-grey, and worked up into a grotesquely
attitudinised fury of injured self-esteem. The other was a
denationalised, shifty-eyed, sallow, grey-bearded governor of one of the
provinces of the Systeme Groenlandais; had a closely barbered head, a
bull neck, and a great belly. He cast furtive glances round him,
uncertain whether to escape or to wait for his say. He looked at the
ring that encircled the window at a little distance, and his face, which
had betrayed a half-apparent shame, hardened at sight of the cynical
masks of the cosmopolitan conspirators. They were amused by the scene.
The Holsteiner gained confidence, shrugged his shoulders.

"You have had the fever very badly since you came back," he said,
showing a level row of white teeth. "You did not talk like that out
there."

"No--_pas si bete_--you would have hanged me, perhaps, as you did that
poor devil of a Swiss. What was his name? Now you offer me the cross.
Because I had the fever, _hein_?"

I had been watching the Duc's face; a first red flush had come creeping
from under the roots of his beard, and had spread over the low forehead
and the sides of the neck. The eye-glass fell from the eye, a signal for
the colour to retreat. The full lips grew pallid, and began to mutter
unspoken words. His eyes wandered appealingly from the woman beside him
to me. _I_ didn't want to look him in the face. The man was a trafficker
in human blood, an evil liver, and I hated him. He had to pay his price;
would have to pay--b