to starve, steal, drown, or hang, to beg in the streets, die in a gutter, a workhouse, or a prison—has lived through all, to stand face to face with you this day, and to tell you that for his own and for his mother's wrongs, with all the strength of a soul which those wrongs have steeped in wickedness—he hates you!"
"Don't be violent," said the Marquis, gently. "So, you are my son? Upon my word I thought all along you were something of that kind, for you are such a consummate villain."
For the first time in his life Raymond de Marolles feels what it is to be beaten by his own weapons. Against the sang froid of the Marquis the torrent of his passionate words dashes, as the sea dashes at the foot of a rock, and makes as little impression.
"And what then?" says the Marquis. "Since it appears you are my son, what then?"
"You must save me, monsieur," said Raymond, in a hoarse voice.
"Save you? But, my worthy friend, how save you? Save you from the cab and handcuffs? If I go out to those people and say, 'He is my son; be so good as to forego the cab and handcuffs,' they will laugh at me. They are so dreadfully matter-of-fact, that sort of people. What is to be done?"
"Only this, monsieur. I must make my escape from this apartment. That window looks into the garden, from the garden to the mews, through the mews into a retired street, and thence———"
"Never mind that, if you get there. I really doubt the possibility of your getting there. There is a policeman watching in that garden."
Raymond smiles. He is recovering his presence of mind in the necessity for action. He opens a drawer in the library table and takes out an air-pistol, which looks rather like some elegant toy than a deadly weapon.
"I must shoot that man," he says.
"Then I give the alarm. I will not be implicated in a murder. Good Heavens! the Marquis de Cevennes implicated in a murder! Why, it would be talked of in Paris for a month."
"There will be no murder, monsieur. I shall fire at that man from this window and hit him in the knee. He will fall, and most likely faint from the pain, and will not, therefore know whether I pass through the garden or not. You will give the alarm, and tell the men without that I have escaped through this window and the door in the wall yonder. They will pursue me in that direction, while I———"
"You will do what?"
"Go out at the front door as a gentleman should. I was not unprepared for such an event as this. Every room in this house has a secret communication with the next room. There is only
