ith a bound he had the
other by the shoulders--and then, somehow, he found himself
laughing--not merrily--laughing in a sort of contemptuous rage. He
could take Paul Valmain with his own great strength and do with him
what he pleased. But that was not the way a blow such as he had
received was to be answered! And, anyway, what was the matter with the
man? He must have lost his senses!

"You--hound!"--Paul Valmain was repeating hoarsely, his lips twitching
in his passion. "I watched last night outside your studio. I watched,
and oh, God!--I saw her enter."

Jean's hands dropped from the man's shoulders in blank amazement. Yes,
certainly, the man was either drunk or mad! Certainly, he was not
responsible for what he was saying.

"There was no one who entered my studio last night," he said almost
pityingly.

"You liar!"--Paul Valmain was like a man beside himself, demented.
"You liar--you liar--you liar! I saw her! I know now who this secret
model is whose divine form you desecrate, you black-souled libertine!
I saw her go in at two o'clock in the morning--_and at daylight she had
not come out again_."

Jean shrugged his shoulders intolerantly. The man was quite out of his
head from some cause or other, but that was no reason why he should be
called upon to endure the other's irresponsible ranting.

"You poor fool!" he exclaimed irritably. "So you know who it is, do
you? And what then? If it brings you such poignant, personal grief,
why did you let her go in? Why did you not tell her that--"

"It was too late"--white to the lips, Paul Valmain raised his clenched
fists--"it was too late--after months of it! I could save her only one
thing--the knowledge that I knew her shame. I was across the street--I
saw her--God pity me--I loved her--the black cloak and hat she wore
only a few days before when we were together! I have lived in hell and
torment and fear that it might be so since that afternoon--that
afternoon--did you think I did not see the key in your hand, and--"

"What do you mean?"--there was a sudden blackness curiously streaked
with red before Jean's eyes; the blood was sweeping in a mad tide
upward in his face to pound like trip-hammers at his temples--the man's
words could bear only one interpretation, a hideous one, that outraged
his soul, and roused a seething fury within him. "What do you mean?"
he said again between his teeth.

"I mean," Paul Valmain answered, "I mean--damn you,