termined now to keep Cynthia out of the
discussion. Even Vanrenen's letter need not be mentioned until he had
seen the millionaire in person and disabused his mind of the inept
inventions with which the Frenchman had perplexed him.

"I don't take your refusal as final," said Count Edouard, speaking
very slowly, and choosing each sentence with evident care. "I was at
pains to explain my position, and there now devolves upon me the
disagreeable duty of telling you what will happen if you do not fight.
You English may not care to defend your honor in the manner that
appeals to a more sensitive nation like the French, but you are
vulnerable in your womenfolk. I now tell you quite frankly, that if
you do not abandon your pretensions to Miss Cynthia Vanrenen, I shall
make it my special business in life to ruin her socially."

Medenham listened more in amazement than indignation.

At first, the true significance of the threat left him unmoved. In his
ears it was a mere repetition of the bogey raised by Vanrenen, and
that was the wildest nonsense.

"I really do not think you are responsible for your words," he began.

Marigny swept aside the protest with an emphatic gesture.

"Oh, yes, I am," he said, his voice low, sibilant, menacing. "I have
laid my plans, and shall pursue them with a complete detachment.
Others may suffer--so shall I. I have practically reached the limit
of my resources. In a month or less I shall be penniless. What
money I could scrape together I devoted to the furtherance of this
marriage-project, and I am well aware that when you meet Mr. Vanrenen,
my poor little cobweb of intrigue will be blown into thin air. You are
quite a desirable _parti_, Viscount Medenham--every condition points
to your speedy and happy union to the lady of your choice. It is,
however, a most unfortunate and lamentable fact that she also happens
to be the lady of _my_ choice, and I shall revenge myself on you,
through her, in the way best calculated to pierce your thick British
hide. The future Countess of Fairholme should be superior to Caesar's
wife in being not only above suspicion, but altogether removed from
its taint. I am afraid that it will be my task to tarnish her
escutcheon."

"You miserable rascal," cried Medenham, stung beyond endurance by this
extraordinary declaration of a vile purpose, "why should you imagine
that I shall allow you to sit there and pour forth your venom
unscathed? Stand up, you beast, or mus