crossed his legs and hung
over his knee his sombrero, on which he drummed a minstrel march.

"My dear Monsieur Rovere, it is a last appeal for funds. I believe that
America is better than Paris. And in order to return there or to do
what I ought here, I must have what I have not--money!"

"I am tired of giving you money!" Rovere quickly replied.

And between these two men, bound by the remembrance of the dead girl--a
bond burdensome to the one, imposed upon by the other--a storm of bitter
words and harsh sentiments arose and kindled fierce anger in both.

"I tried to let you remain in peace, my dear Consul. But hunger has
driven the wolf out of the woods. I am very hungry. And here I am!"

"I have nothing with which to feed your appetites. You are nothing but a
burden to me."

"Oh! Ingratitude!" and Prades, with his Argentine accent, spoke his
sister's name.

"My father died and Carlotta herself entrusted me to your care, my dear
brother-in-law!"

It seemed to the sick man, irritated as he was, that this name--which he
had buried deep in his heart with chaste tenderness--was a supreme
insult.

"I forbid you to evoke that memory! You do not see, then, that the
memory of that dear and saintly creature is one of the griefs of my
life!"

"And it is one of my heritages! Brother-in-law of a consul, _Senor mia_,
but it is a title, and I hold it!"

Rovere experienced a strong desire to call, to ring, to give an order to
have this troublesome visitor put out. But energetic and fearless as he
had been but a short time before, now weakened by illness, he trembled
before a possible scandal. Then he, unaided, attempted to push the young
man out of the salon. Prades resisted, and, at the first touch, gave a
bound, and all that was evil in him suddenly awoke.

A struggle ensued, without a word being pronounced by either; a quick,
brutal struggle. Rovere counted on his past strength, taking by the
collar this Prades who threatened him, and Prades, while clutching the
ex-Consul with his left hand, searched in his pocket for a weapon--the
one which Bernardet had taken from him.

This was a sinister moment! Prades pushed Rovere back; he staggered and
fell against a piece of furniture, while the young man disengaging
himself, stepped back, quickly opened his Spanish knife, then, with a
bound, caught Rovere, shook him, and holding the knife uplifted, said:

"Thou hast willed it!"

It was at this instant that Rovere, whos