"

His arm crept round her--he knew not how; her head sank on his shoulder,
she knew not why--faithlessness to her lord was as far from her thoughts
as murder or arson; but for one poor little moment in a lifetime it is
good to weep on someone's shoulder and to have someone's sympathetic arm
around one's waist.

"_Pauvre petite femme!_ And is it love she is pining for?"

She sobbed; he lifted her chin with his free hand--and what less could
mortal apostle do?--he kissed her on her wet cheek.

A bellow like that of an angry bull caused them to start asunder. They
looked up, and there was Mr. Ducksmith within a few yards of them, his
face aflame, his rabbit's eyes on fire with rage. He advanced, shook his
fists in their faces.

"I've caught you! At last, after twenty years, I've caught you!"

"Monsieur," cried Aristide, starting up, "allow me to explain."

He swept Aristide aside like an intercepting willow-branch, and poured
forth a torrent of furious speech upon his wife.

"I have hated you for twenty years. Day by day I have hated you more.
I've watched you, watched you, watched you! But, you sly jade, you've
been too clever for me till now. Yes; I followed you from the hotel. I
dogged you. I foresaw what would happen. Now the end has come. I've
hated you for twenty years--ever since you first betrayed me----"

Mrs. Ducksmith, who had sat with overwhelmed head in her hands, started
bolt upright, and looked at him like one thunderstruck.

"I betrayed you?" she gasped, in bewilderment. "My God! When? How? What
do you mean?"

He laughed--for the first time since Aristide had known him--but it was
a ghastly laugh, that made the jowls of his cheeks spread horribly to
his ears; and again he flooded the calm, stately courtyard with the
raging violence of words. The veneer of easy life fell from him. He
became the low-born, petty tradesman, using the language of the hands
of his jam factory. No, he had never told her. He had awaited his
chance. Now he had found it. He called her names....

[Illustration: "I'VE CAUGHT YOU! AT LAST, AFTER TWENTY YEARS, I'VE
CAUGHT YOU!"]

Aristide interposed, his Southern being athrob with the insults heaped
upon the woman.

"Say that again, monsieur," he shouted, "and I will take you up in my
arms like a sheep and throw you down that well."

The two men glared at one another, Aristide standing bent, with crooked
fingers, ready to spring at the other's throat.