se of his nature and of his hatred for life, he
flattened himself to his full length, reached his revolver, seized it,
and fired.

He fired; but it was too late. Don Luis had caused the weapon to swerve
with a kick of his boot. Another kick sent it flying out of the
cripple's hand.

The villain ground his teeth with fury and at once began hurriedly to
fumble in his pockets.

"Is this what you're looking for, sir?" asked Don Luis, holding up a
hypodermic syringe filled with a yellow fluid. "Excuse me, but I was
afraid lest you should prick yourself by mistake. That would have been a
fatal prick, would it not? And I should never have forgiven myself."

The cripple was disarmed. He hesitated for a moment, surprised that the
enemy did not attack him more violently, and sought to profit by the
delay. His small, blinking eyes wandered around him, looking for
something to throw. But an idea seemed to strike him and to restore his
confidence little by little; and, in a new and really unexpected fit of
delight, he indulged in one of his loudest chuckles:

"And what about Florence?" he shouted. "Don't forget Florence! For I've
got you there! I can miss you with my revolver and you can steal my
poison; but I have another means of hitting you, right in the heart. You
can't live without Florence, can you? Florence's death means your own
sentence, doesn't it? If Florence is dead, you'll put the rope round your
own neck, won't you, won't you, won't you?"

"Yes. If Florence were to die, I could not survive her!"

"She is dead!" cried the scoundrel, with a renewed burst of merriment,
hopping about on his knees. "She's dead, quite, quite dead! What am I
saying? She's more than dead! A dead person retains the appearance of a
live one for a time; but this is much better: there's no corpse here,
Lupin; just a mess of flesh and bone!

"The whole scaffolding of rocks has come down on top of her! You can
picture it, eh? What a sight! Come, quick, it's your turn to kick the
bucket. Would you like a length of rope? Ha, ha, ha! It's enough to make
one die with laughing. Didn't I say that you'd meet at the gates of hell?
Quick, your sweetheart's waiting for you. Do you hesitate? Where's your
old French politeness? You can't keep a lady waiting, you know. Hurry up,
Lupin! Florence is dead!"

He said this with real enjoyment, as though the mere word of death
appeared to him delicious.

Don Luis had not moved a muscle. He simply nodded hi