hich she had worn in her hair had escaped from its diamond loop and lay
upon the ground; the delicate gaze d'or of her dress was torn and
crushed.

For an instant Calvert stood in the shadow of one of the Grecian columns
and looked at the scene before him in sick amazement. So it was to
Adrienne that St. Aulaire was singing love-songs in this isolated spot
at midnight! As he hesitated, Monsieur de St. Aulaire rose from his
knees.

"You did not always treat me with such contempt, Madame," he said, with
a mocking laugh, "and by God, I have no mind to stand it now," and,
putting one arm around her quivering shoulders and crushing in his the
hand with which she would have pushed him from her, he leaned lightly
over to kiss her.

As he did so, Calvert stepped quietly forward ('twas wonderful how,
though he always seemed to move slowly, he was ever in the right place
at the right time) and, seizing St. Aulaire by the collar, hurled him
backward with such force that he fell heavily against one of the
gleaming marble columns and lay, for an instant, stunned and motionless.
Feeling herself thus violently released from St. Aulaire's embrace,
Adrienne sprang back, uttering a low cry and gazing in surprise at
Calvert. The ease with which he had flung off the larger and heavier man
aroused her wonder as well as her admiration, for she never imagined
Calvert's slender, boyish figure to be possessed of so much brute
strength, and, since the days of Hercules and Omphale, brute strength in
man has ever appealed to woman. Before either of them could speak, St.
Aulaire struggled to his feet and, wrenching his dress sword from its
sheath, staggered toward Calvert, thrusting wildly and ineffectually at
him.

"Put up your sword, my lord," says Calvert, contemptuously, knocking up
the silver blade with his own, which he had drawn. "We cannot fight
with these toys. Should you wish to pursue this affair with swords or
pistols, if you prefer the English mode, you know where to find me. And
now, begone, sir!"

The quiet sternness with which the young man spoke filled Adrienne with
fresh wonder and something like fear. She glanced from Calvert's face,
with its look of calm authority, to St. Aulaire's convulsed countenance.
The nobleman's face, usually so debonair, was now white and seamed with
anger. All the hidden evil traits of his soul came out and stamped
themselves visibly on his countenance, in that heat of passion, like
characters wr