oice which was
perfectly controlled and courteous, though I could hear behind all a
deadly emphasis, 'I know everything now. You have foiled me, blindfolded
me and all others, these three years past. You have intrigued against
the captains of intrigue, you have matched yourself against practised
astuteness. On one side, I resent being made a fool and tool of; on the
other, I am lost in admiration of your talent. But henceforth there is
no such thing as quarter between us. Your lover shall die, and I will
come again. This whim of the Grande Marquise will last but till I see
her; then I will return to you--forever. Your lover shall die, your
love's labour for him shall be lost. I shall reap where I did not
sow--his harvest and my own. I am as ice to you, mademoiselle, at this
moment; I have murder in my heart. Yet warmth will come again. I admire
you so much that I will have you for my own, or die. You are the high
priestess of diplomacy; your brain is a statesman's, your heart is
a vagrant; it goes covertly from the sweet meadows of France to the
marshes of England, a taste unworthy of you. You shall be redeemed from
that by Tinoir Doltaire. Now thank me for all I have done for you, and
let me say adieu.' He stooped and kissed my hand. 'I can not thank you
for what I myself achieved,' I said. 'We are, as in the past, to be at
war, you threaten, and I have no gratitude.' 'Well, well, adieu and
au revoir, sweetheart,' he answered. 'If I should go to the Bastile, I
shall have food for thought; and I am your hunter to the end. In this
good orchard I pick sweet fruit one day.' His look fell on me in such a
way that shame and anger were at equal height in me. Then he bowed again
to me and to Jamond, and, with a sedate gesture, walked away with the
soldiers and the officer.

"You can guess what were my feelings. You were safe for the moment--that
was the great thing. The terror I had felt when I saw Monsieur Doltaire
in the Chambre de la Joie had passed, for I felt he would not betray me.
He is your foe, and he would kill you; but I was sure he would not put
me in danger while he was absent in France--if he expected to return--by
making public my love for you and my adventure at the palace. There is
something of the noble fighter in him, after all, though he is so evil a
man. A prisoner himself now, he would have no immediate means to hasten
your death. But I can never forget his searching, cruel look when he
recognized me! Of