there was
wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating,
challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed
on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed
through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and
his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his
teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which
sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight.

Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently
watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any
quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind
those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have
detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong
and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently
broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though
perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual.

"And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?"

"Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?"

"She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her
enthusiasms than women usually are."

"And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal."

"But when she learns that you . . ."

"She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our
marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then
I can hold my peace."

An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his
hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard
knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew
and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning
indignation which flashed from his eyes.

"But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and
monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days
. . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true
. . ."

"In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old
regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has
come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his
humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and
loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more
put his dukes an