heard the sound of voices. The
tone was angry and imperious on both sides, and, in intense eagerness,
O'Shea drew nigher and nigher.

"None of your nonsense with me," said a firm and resolute voice. "I know
well how much you believe of such trumpery."

"I tell you again that I do believe it. As certain as I give you money,
so certain am I to lose. Thursday week I gave you five Naps; I lost
that same night seventy thousand francs; on Wednesday last the same
thing; and to-night two thousand Napoleons are gone. You swore to me,
besides, so late as yesterday, that if I gave you twenty Louis, you 'd
leave Baden, to go back to England."

"So I would, but I 've lost it. I went in at roulette, and came out
without sixpence; and I'm sure it was not lending brought bad luck upon
_me_." added he, with a bitter laugh.

"Then may I be cursed in all I do, if I give you another fraction! You
think to terrify me by exposure; but who 'll stand that test best,--the
man who can draw on his banker for five thousand pounds, or the outcast
who can't pay for his dinner? Let the world know the worst of me,
and say the worst of me, I can live without it, and you may die on a
dunghill."

"Well, I 'm glad we 're come to this at last Baden shall know to-morrow
morning the whole story, and you will see how many will sit down at the
same table with you. You 're a fool--you always were a fool--to insult a
man as reek-less as I am. What have I to lose? They can't try _me_ over
again any more than _you_. But you can be shunned and cut by your fine
acquaintances, turned out of clubs, disowned on every hand--"

"Look here, Collier," broke in Paten; "I have heard all that rubbish
fifty times from you, but it does n't terrify me. The man that can live
as I do need never want friends or acquaintances; the starving beggar
it is who has no companionship. Let us start fair to-morrow, as you
threaten, and at the end of the week let us square accounts, and see who
has the best of it."

"I 'll go into the rooms when they are most crowded, and I 'll say,
'The man yonder, who calls himself Ludlow Paten, is Paul Hunt, the
accomplice of Towers, that was hanged for the murder of Godfrey Hawke,
at Jersey. My name is Collier; I never changed it I, too, was in the
dock on that day. Here we stand,--he in fine clothes, and I in rags, but
not so very remote as externals bespeak us.'"

"In two hours after I 'd have you sent over the frontier with a
gendarme, as a v