which
you swore to obey? We are polluted by your treason, we are tainted by
your shame! Are you afraid to speak? Is your voice frozen in your
throat? The greater part of your punishment should be in its shame. But
you cannot feel it! You and shame are strangers--the last infamy of the
base! You are loathsome, a mercenary false to his salt, a hound who sold
himself for money first and for disgraceful gain afterwards! How can I
touch you? Where can I prod you? On what nerve, since the nerve of shame
is dead? Like the groom, one could only punish you with a whip. I shall
lay the matter before the Duke. I will urge it upon my colleagues,' he
swept his arm round the table; 'a hundred with the whip or to run the
gauntlet of the Guard. That would touch you more than words, or shame,
or death! Ha, that reaches you!' he cried, and then there was a fierce
exultation in the raucous volleying words, 'You have disgraced the Guard
but we cannot for reasons of state publicly disgrace you. But you shall
be shot--shot like a dog! You shall not meet death face to face as many
a brave man has met it, but you shall be shot, cringing with your back
to the gun-muzzles--like the cur you are!'

Rallywood's pale features had flushed for a second. There was a
brutality about Sagan's denunciations which shocked the men around him.
Rallywood deserved something, but not this, not that! Unziar's eyes
burned, Wallenloup was frowning. But Sagan swept on. He was a man who
trampled horribly upon a fallen foe.

At last Wallenloup could bear it no longer. He rose to his feet and
saluting the Count led the way from the room, the line closing with
Rallywood between Adolf and Unziar as guard.

Left alone in the great dim vaulted chamber, Sagan stood upright and
watched the door through which they had filed out, and there came upon
him in the dying daylight a terrible moment, such as all uncontrolled
natures must at times know. A sense of the futility of all things, a
knowledge that life has lost its taste, the hideousness of finally
baffled desire.

He hurled out his heavy arms with a wild gesture.

'Where have they gone? Where are they, the strong lusts and hates and
triumphs--the satisfactions of the old days? The world has grown puny.
It is empty, empty, empty!'

CHAPTER XXX.

'UPON THE GREAT WORLD'S ALTAR-STAIRS.'

It is a commonplace that selfish natures, balked of gratification, seek
relief in making the unhappiness of others, prefer