our little fight and--I have lost. We both did our
best with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve. I stood for
wickedness, you stood for virtue, and virtue has triumphed; but, between
ourselves"--he smiled and shrugged his shoulders--"they're both only words
and--it isn't important, anyhow."

He paused while a contemplative, elusive smile played about his mouth.

"The point is, I am going to pay the price that society exacts when this
sort of thing is--found out. I am perfectly willing to pay it, not in the
least afraid to pay it, and, above all, not in the least sorry for
anything. I want you to remember that and repeat it. I have no patience
with cowardly canting talk about remorse. I have never for one moment
regretted anything I have done, and I regret nothing now. Nothing! I have
had five years of the best this world can give--power, fortune, social
position, pleasure, _everything_, and whatever I pay, I'm ahead of the
game, way ahead. If I had it all to do over again and knew that this would
be the end, _I would change nothing_."

"Except that secret door under the stone shelf--you might change that," put
in Coquenil dryly.

"No wonder you feel bitter," mused the baron. "It was you or me, and--_I_
showed no pity. Why should you? I want you to believe, though, that I was
genuine when I said I liked you. I was ready to destroy you, but I liked
you. I like you now, Coquenil, and--this is perhaps our last talk, they
will take me off presently, and--you collect odd souvenirs--here is one--a
little good-by--from an adversary who was--game, anyway. You don't mind
accepting it?"

There was something in the man's voice that Coquenil had never heard there.
Was it a faint touch of sentiment? He took the ring that the baron handed
him, an uncut ruby, and looked at it thoughtfully, wondering if, after all,
there was room in this cold, cruel soul for a tiny spot of tenderness.

"It's a beautiful stone, but--I cannot accept it; we never take gifts from
prisoners and--thank you."

He handed back the ring.

The baron's face darkened; he made an angry gesture as if he would dash the
trinket to the floor. Then he checked himself, and studying the ring sadly,
twisted it about in his fingers.

"Ah, that pride of yours! You've been brilliant, you've been brave, but
never unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and----"

De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam in
his eyes; t