blackmail. They could all swear me off my feet and into prison—what was I to do? I took the money and went. But I came back to have my revenge. I could cut their hearts out and eat them."
"You are drunk," said the Seigneur quietly. "You don’t know what you’re saying."
"I’m not drunk. I’m always trying to get drunk now. I couldn’t have come here if I hadn’t been drinking. I couldn’t have told you the truth if I hadn’t been drinking. But I’m sober enough to know that I’ve done for him and for her! And I’m even with you too—bah! Did you think she cared a fig for you? She’s only waiting till you die. Then she’ll go to her lover. He’s a man of life and limb. You—pish! a hunchback, that all the world laughs at, a worm—" he turned towards the door laughing hideously, his evil face gloating. "You’ve not got a stick or stone. She"—jerking a finger towards the house—"she earns what you eat, she"
It was the last word he ever spoke, for, with a low terrible cry, the Seigneur snatched up a knife from the table and sprang upon him, catching him by the throat. Once, twice, thrice, the knife went home, and the ruffian collapsed under it with one loud cry. Not letting go his grasp of the dying man’s collar, the Seigneur dragged him across the floor, and, opening the door of the small inner room, pulled him inside. For a moment he stood beside the body, panting, then he went to the other room and, bringing a candle, looked at the dead thing in silence. Presently he stooped, held the candle to the wide-staring eyes, then felt the heart.
"He is gone," he said in an even voice. Stooping for the knife he had dropped on the floor, he laid it on the body. He looked at his hands. There was one spot
