lled Arabs, I tell
you--great, gaunt, grim men--and made them bite the dust under my
fire. Do you think I would check for a moment at dealing you death, you
beautiful, useless, honeyed, poisoned, painted exotic, that has every
wind tempered to you, and thinks the world only made to bear the fall of
your foot!"

The fury of words was poured out without pause, and with an intense
passion vibrating through them; the wine was hot in her veins, the hate
was hot in her heart; her eyes glittered with murderous meaning, and she
darted with one swift bound to the side of the rival she loathed,
with the pistol half out of her belt; she expected to see the one she
threatened recoil, quail, hear the threat in terror; she mistook the
nature with which she dealt. Venetia Corona never moved, never gave a
sign of the amazement that awoke in her; but she put her hand out and
clasped the barrel of the weapon, while her eyes looked down into
the flashing, looming, ferocious ones that menaced her, with calm,
contemptuous rebuke, in which something of infinite pity was mingled.

"Child, are you mad?" she said gravely. "Brave natures do not stoop to
assassination, which you seem to deify. If you have any reason to feel
evil against me, tell me what it is. I always repair a wrong, if I can.
But as for those threats, they are most absurd if you do not mean them;
they are most wicked if you do."

The tranquil, unmoved, serious words stilled the vehement passion she
rebuked with a strange and irresistible power; under her gaze the savage
lust in Cigarette's eyes died out, and their lids drooped over them; the
dusky, scarlet color failed from her cheeks; for the first time in her
life she felt humiliated, vanquished, awed. If this "aristocrat" had
shown one sign of fear, one trace of apprehension, all her violent and
reckless hatred would have reigned on, and, it might have been, have
rushed from threat to execution; but showing the only quality, that
of courage, for which she had respect, her great rival confused and
disarmed her. She was only sensible, with a vivid, agonizing sense of
shame, that her only cause of hatred against this woman was that he
loved her. And this she would have died a thousand deaths rather than
have acknowledged.

She let the pistol pass into Venetia's grasp; and stood, irresolute
and ashamed, her fluent tongue stricken dumb, her intent to wound,
and sting, and outrage with every vile, coarse jest she knew, rendere