"Maurice," he said, in tones of calm and dispa.s.sionate reproof, "your conduct is absolutely unjustifiable. You seem to forget that you are in the presence of ladies and of my guests. If you had a quarrel with M. de Marmont. . . ."

"A quarrel, my dear Comte?" exclaimed St. Genis, "nay, 'tis no quarrel I have with him: and my conduct would have been a thousand times more vile if I had not come to-night and stopped his hand from touching that of Mlle. Crystal de Cambray--his hand which was engaged less than two hours ago in affixing to the public buildings of Gren.o.ble the infamous message of the Corsican brigand to the army and the people of France."

A hoa.r.s.e murmur--a sure sign that men or women are afraid--came from every corner of the room.

"The message?--What message?"

Some people turned instinctively to M. le prefet, others to General Marchand. Every one knew that Bonaparte had landed on the Littoral, every one had heard the rumour that he was marching in triumph through Provence and the Dauphine--but no one had altogether believed this--as for a message--a proclamation--a call to the army--and this in Gren.o.ble itself. No one had heard of that--every one had been at home, getting dressed for this festive function, thinking of good suppers and of wedding bells. It was as if after a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning the house was found to be in flames. M. le prefet in answer to these mute queries had shrugged his shoulders, and General Marchand looked grim and silent.

But St. Genis with arm uplifted and shaking hand pointed a finger at de Marmont.

"Ask him," he cried. "Ask him, my dear Comte, ask the miserable traitor who with lies and d.a.m.nable treachery has stolen his way into your house, has stolen your regard, your hospitality, and was on the point of stealing your most precious treasure--your daughter! Ask him! He knows every word of that infamous message by heart! I doubt not but a copy of it is inside his coat now. Ask him! General Mouton-Duveret met him outside Gren.o.ble in company with that cur Emery and I saw him with mine own eyes distributing these h.e.l.lish papers among our townspeople and pinning them up at the street-corners of our city."

While St. Genis was speaking--or rather screaming--for his voice, pitched high, seemed to fill the entire room--every glance was fixed upon de Marmont. Every one of course expected a contradiction as hot and intemperate as was the accusation. It was unthinkable, impossible that what St. Genis said could be true. They all knew de Marmont well. Nephew of the Duc de Raguse who had borne the lion's share in surrendering Paris to the allies and bringing about the downfall of the Corsican usurper, he was one of the most trusted members of the royalist set in Dauphine. They had talked quite freely before him, consulted with him when local Bonapartism appeared uncomfortably rampant. De Marmont was one of themselves.

And yet he said nothing even now when St. Genis accused him and hurled insult upon insult at him:--he said nothing to refute the awful impeachment, to justify his conduct, to explain his companionship with Emery. His face was still livid, but it was with rage--not indignation.

Marchand and Genevois still held him by the arms, else he and St. Genis would have been at one another's throat before now. But his gestures as he struggled to free himself, the imprecations which he uttered were those of a man who was baffled and found out--not of one who is innocent.

But as St. Genis continued to speak and worked himself up every moment into a still greater state of excitement, de Marmont gradually seemed to calm down. He ceased to curse: he ceased to struggle, and on his face--which still was livid--there gradually crept a look of determination and of defiance. He dug his teeth into his under lip until tiny drops of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and trickled slowly down his chin.

Marchand and Genevois relaxed the grip upon his arms, since he no longer fought, and thus released he contrived to pull himself together. He tossed back his head and looked his infuriated accuser boldly in the face.

By the time St. Genis paused in his impa.s.sioned denunciation, he had himself completely under control: only his eyes appeared to glow with an unnatural fire, and little beads of moisture appeared upon his brow and matted the dark hair against his forehead. The Comte de Cambray at this juncture would certainly have interposed with one of those temperate speeches, full of dignity and br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with lofty sentiments, which he knew so well how to deliver, but de Marmont gave him no time to begin. When St. Genis paused for breath, he suddenly freed himself completely with a quick movement, from Marchand's and Genevois' hold; and then he turned to the Comte and to the rest of the company:

"And what if I did pin the Emperor's proclamation on the walls of Gren.o.ble," he said proudly and with a tremor of enthusiasm in his voice, "the Emperor, whom treachery more vile than any since the days of the Iscariot sent into humiliation and exile! The Emperor has come back!"

cried the young devotee with that extraordinary fervour which Napoleon alone--of all men that have ever walked upon this earth--was able to suscitate: "his Imperial eagles once more soar over France carrying on their wings her honour and glory to the outermost corners of Europe. His proclamation is to his people who have always loved him, to his soldiers who in their hearts have always been true to him. His proclamation?" he added as with a kind of exultant war-cry he drew a roll of paper from his pocket and held it out at arm's length above his head, "his proclamation? Here it is! Vive l'Empereur! by the grace of G.o.d!"

Who shall attempt to describe the feelings of all those who were a.s.sembled round this young enthusiast as he hurled his challenge right in the face of those who called him a liar and a traitor? Surely it were a hard task for the chronicler to search into the minds and hearts of this score of men and women--who worshipped one G.o.d and reverenced one King--at the moment when they saw that King threatened upon his throne, their faith mocked and their G.o.d blasphemed: that the young man spoke words of truth no one thought of denying. Napoleon's name had the power to strike terror in the heart of every citizen who desired peace above all things and of every royalist who wished to see King Louis in possession of the throne of his fathers. But the army which had fought under him, the army which he had led in triumph and to victory from one end of the Continent of Europe to the other, that army still loved him and had never been rightly loyal to King Louis. The horrors of war which had lain so heavily over France and over Europe for the past twenty years were painfully vivid still in everybody's mind, and all these horrors were intimately a.s.sociated with the name which stood out now in bold characters on the paper which de Marmont was triumphantly waving.

M. le Comte had become a shade or two paler than he had been before: he looked very old, very careworn, all of a sudden, and his pale eyes had that look in them which comes into the eyes of the old after years of sorrow and of regret.

But never for a moment did he depart from his att.i.tude of dignity. When de Marmont's exultant cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" had ceased to echo round the majestic walls of this stately chateau, he straightened out his spare figure and with one fine gesture begged for silence from his guests.

Then he said very quietly: "M. Marmont, this is neither the place nor the opportunity which I should have chosen for confronting you with all the lies which you have told in the past ten months ever since you entered my house as an honoured guest. But M. de St. Genis has left me no option. Burning with indignation at your treachery he came hot-foot to unmask you, before my daughter's fair hand had affixed her own honourable name beneath that of a cheat and a traitor. . . . Yes! M. de Marmont," he reiterated with virile force, breaking in on the hot protests which had risen to the young man's lips, "no one but a cheat and a traitor could thus have wormed himself into the confidence of an old man and of a young girl! No one but a villainous blackguard could have contemplated the abominable deceptions which you have planned against me and against my daughter."

For a moment or two after the old man had finished speaking Victor de Marmont remained silent. There were murmurs of indignation among the guests, also of approval of the Comte's energetic words. De Marmont was in the midst of a hostile crowd and he knew it. Here was no drawing-room quarrel which could be settled at the point of a sword. Though--as Fate and man so oft ordain it--a woman was the primary reason for the quarrel, she was not its cause; and the hostility expressed against him by every glance which de Marmont encountered was so general and so great, that it overawed him even in the midst of his enthusiasm.

"M. le Comte," he said at last, and he made a great effort to appear indifferent and unconcerned, "I wish for your daughter's sake that M.

de St. Genis had chosen some other time to make this fracas. We who have learned chivalry at the Emperor's school would have hit our enemy when he was in a position to defend himself. This, obviously, I cannot do at this moment without trespa.s.sing still further upon your hospitality, and causing Mlle. Crystal still more pain. I might even make a direct appeal to her, since the decision in this matter rests, I imagine, primarily with her, but with the Emperor at our gates, with the influence of his power and of his pride dominating my every thought, I will with your gracious permission relieve you of my unwelcome presence without taking another leaf out of M. de St. Genis' book."

"As you will, Monsieur," said the Comte stiffly.

De Marmont bowed quite ceremoniously to him, and the Comte--courtly and correct to the last--returned his salute with equal ceremony. Then the young man turned to Crystal.

For the first time, perhaps, since the terrible fracas had begun, he realised what it all must mean to her. She did not try to evade his look, or to turn away from him. On the contrary she looked him straight in the face, and watched him while he approached her, without retreating one single step. But she watched him just as one would watch an abject and revolting cur, that was too vile and too mean even to merit a kick.

Crystal's blue eyes were always expressive, but they had never been so expressive as they were just then. De Marmont met her glance squarely, and he read in it everything that she meant to convey--her contempt, her loathing, her hatred--but above all her contempt. So overwhelming, so complete was this contempt that it made him wince, as if he had been struck in the face with a whip.

He stood still, for he knew that she would never allow him to kiss her hand in farewell, and he had had enough of insults--he knew that he could not bear that final one.

A red mist suddenly gathered before his eyes, a mad desire to strike, to wound or to kill, and with it a wave of pa.s.sion--he called it Love--for this woman, such as he had never felt for her before. He gave her back with a glance, hatred for hatred, but whereas her hatred for him was smothered in contempt, his for her was leavened with a fierce and dominant pa.s.sion.

All this had taken but a few seconds in accomplishment. M. le Comte had not done more than give a sign to Hector to see M. de Marmont safely out of the castle, and Maurice de St. Genis had only had time to think of interposing, if de Marmont tried to take Crystal's hand.

Only a few seconds, but a lifetime of emotion was crammed into them.

Then de Marmont, with Crystal's look of loathing still eating into his soul, caught sight of Clyffurde who stood close by--Clyffurde whose one thought throughout all this unhappy scene had been of Crystal, who through it all had eyes and ears only for her.

Some kind of instinct made the young girl look up to him just then: probably only in response to a wave of memory which brought back to her at that very moment, the words of devotion and offer of service which he had spoken awhile ago; or it may have been that same sense which had told her at the time that here was a man whom she could always trust, that he would always prove a friend, as he had promised, and the look which she gave him was one of simple confidence.

But de Marmont just happened to intercept that look. He had never been jealous of Clyffurde of course. Clyffurde--the foreigner, the bourgeois tradesman--never could under any circ.u.mstances be a rival to reckon with. At any other time he would have laughed at the idea of Mlle.

Crystal de Cambray bestowing the slightest favour upon the Englishman.

But within the last few seconds everything had become different. Victor de Marmont, the triumphant and wealthy suitor of Mlle. de Cambray, had become a pariah among all these ladies and gentlemen, and he had become a man scorned by the woman whom he had wooed and thought to win so easily.

The fierce love engendered for Crystal in his turbulent heart by all the hatred and all the scorn which she lavished upon him, brought an unreasoning jealousy into being. He felt suddenly that he detested Clyffurde. He remembered Clyffurde's nationality and its avowed hatred of the hero whom he--de Marmont--worshipped. And he realised also that that same hatred must of necessity be a bond between the Englishman and Crystal de Cambray.

Therefore--though this new untamed jealousy seized hold of him with extraordinary power, though it brought that ominous red film before his eyes, which makes a man strike out blindly and stupidly against his rival, it also suggested to de Marmont a far simpler and far more efficacious way of ridding himself once for all of any fear of rivalry from Clyffurde.

When he had bowed quite formally to Crystal he looked up at Bobby and gave him a pleasant and friendly nod.

"I suppose you will be coming with me, my good Clyffurde," he said lightly, "we are rowing in the same boat, you and I. We were a very happy party, were we not? you and Emery and I when General Mouton met us outside Gren.o.ble: for we had just heard the glorious news that the Emperor is marching triumphantly through France."

Then he turned once more to St. Genis: "Did not," he said, "the General's aide-de-camp tell you that, M. de St. Genis?"

St. Genis had--during these few seconds while de Marmont held the centre of the stage--succeeded in controlling his excitement, at any rate outwardly. He was so absolutely master of the situation and had put his successful rival so completely to rout, that the sense of satisfaction helped to soothe his nerves: and when de Marmont spoke directly to him, he was able to reply with comparative calm.

"Had you," he said to de Marmont, "attempted to deny the accusation which I have brought against you, I was ready to confront you with the report which General Mouton's aide-de-camp brought into the town."

"I had no intention of denying my loyalty to the Emperor," rejoined de Marmont, "but I would like to know what report General Mouton's aide-de-camp brought into Gren.o.ble. The worthy General did not belie his name, I a.s.sure you, he looked mightily scared when he recognised Emery."

"He was alone with his aide-de-camp and in his coach," retorted St.

Genis, "whilst that traitor Emery, you and your friend Mr. Clyffurde were on horseback--you gave him the slip easily enough."

"That's true, of course," said de Marmont simply. "Well, shall we go, my dear Clyffurde?"

He had accomplished the purpose of his jealousy even more effectually than he could have wished. He looked round and saw that everyone had thrown a casual glance of contempt upon Clyffurde and then turned away to murmur with scornful indifference: "I always mistrusted that man."

Or: "The Comte ought never to have had the fellow in the house," while the words: "English spy!" and "Informer" were on every lip.

But Clyffurde had made no movement during this brief colloquy. He saw--just as de Marmont did--that everyone was listening more with indifference than with horror. He--the stranger--was of so little consequence after all!--a tradesman and an Englishman--what mattered what his political convictions were? De Marmont was an object of hatred, but he--Clyffurde--was only one of contempt.

He heard the muttered words: "English spy!" "Informer!" and others of still more overwhelming disdain. But he cared little what these people said. He knew that they would never trouble to hear any justification from himself--they would not worry their heads about him a moment longer once he had left the house in company with de Marmont.

He was not quite sure either whether de Marmont's spite had been directed against himself, personally, or that it was merely the outcome of his present humiliating position.

M. le Comte had not bestowed more than a glance upon him and that from under haughtily raised brows and across half the width of the room: but Crystal had looked up to him, and was still looking, and it was that look which had driven all the blood from Clyffurde's face and caused his lips to set closely as if with a sense of physical pain.

The insults which her father's guests were overtly murmuring, she had in her mind and her eyes were conveying them to him far more plainly than her lips could have done:

"English spy--traitor to friendship and to trust--liar, deceiver, hypocrite." That and more did her scornful glance imply. But she said nothing. He tried to plead with eyes as expressive as were her own, and she merely turned away from him, just as if he no longer existed. She drew her skirt closer round her and somehow with that gesture she seemed to sweep him entirely out of her existence.