All--all a lie!"

"You pass for a saint, and yet you boast of these iniquities! No, there
is no man so craftily skilful, so fortunately bold, as thus to captivate
the confidence and respect of men; that were, indeed, a fearful defiance
cast in the teeth of society!"

"I am that man,--I have cast that sarcasm, that defiance, in the face of
society!" exclaimed the monster, in a tone of ecstatic pride.

"Jacques! Jacques! Do not speak thus!" said Cecily, with a tone of
emotion. "You make me mad!"

"My head for your love,--will you have it so?"

"Ah, this, indeed, is love! Here, take my poniard,--you disarm me!"

Jacques Ferrand took, through the wicket, the dangerous weapon, with due
precaution, and flung it from him to a distance in the corridor.

"Cecily, you believe me, then!" he exclaimed with transport.

"Do I believe you?" said the creole, energetically pressing her
beautiful fingers on the clasped hands of Jacques Ferrand. "Oh, yes, I
do! For now, again, you look as you did a short time since, when my very
soul seemed fascinated by your gaze."

"Cecily, you will speak the words of, truth--and truth only--to me?"

"And can you doubt it for a moment? Ah, you will soon have ample proof
of my sincerity. But what you are about to tell me is quite true,--is it
not?"

"I repeat that you may believe each word I utter."

"So much the better, since you are enabled to prove your passion by the
avowal of them."

"And if I tell you all?"

"Then will I, in return, withhold nothing from you; for if, indeed, you
have this blind, this courageous confidence in me, Jacques, I will call
no more for the ideal lover of my song, but you,--my hero, my tiger! to
whom I will sing, 'Come--come--oh, come!'"

As Cecily uttered these words, with an air and voice of seductive
tenderness, she drew so close to the wicket that Jacques Ferrand could
feel the hot breath of the creole pass over his cheek, while her fresh,
full lip lightly touched his coarse, vulgar hand. "Call me your
tiger,--your slave,--what you will,--and if after that you but divulge
what I entrust to you, my life will be the consequence. Yes,
enchantress, a word from you, and I perish on a scaffold. My honour,
reputation, nay, my very existence, are henceforward in your hands."

"Your honour?"

"Yes, even so. But listen. About ten years ago I was entrusted with the
care of a child, and a sum of money for her use, amounting to two
hundred thousand francs; well,