"That is the portrait of Célestine—of my wife."
"Your wife! Your wife!" Mr. Kennard's voice rose almost to a roar. "This is the girl who came to me this morning, and who, in exchange for ten thousand francs, offered to kill the President."
M. Gerbert's eyes visibly dilated. He caught at the edge of the table as if to help him to stand.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure!" Taking his host by the shoulder, as he shouted each new insult, Mr. Kennard shook him as if he had been some naughty child. "You little mountebank! You tailor's dummy! You shell of a man!" In his excitement Mr. Kennard actually lifted his host right off his feet, and held him up before him in the air. "With your attitudinising, and the rest of your folly, you've driven that little girl, who loves you as only a woman can love a fool, to try to gain for you a wretched ten thousand francs in exchange, you little ass, for her own life."
Mr. Nash came and laid his hand upon his impulsive friend's arm.
"Steady, Hugh!"
Thus recalled to himself, and to the conventions of civilised society, Mr. Kennard replaced his host upon his feet upon the floor. Ml Gerbert seemed so taken aback by the treatment he had received as to be able, for the moment, to do nothing but pant and gape. In the sudden silence a pass key was heard being inserted in the door without. It was opened. A woman came in; it was the woman who, that morning, had visited Mr. Kennard.
"Alphonse!" she exclaimed. "What is it?" She caught sight of Mr. Kennard, and knew him.
