At length the murderers appeared and called for coffee, and Madam Marx attended to their wants.  In a few minutes the Egyptians left, and Gregorio and she were alone.  Coming near him, she placed her hand timidly on his shoulder, and asked him, in a hoarse whisper, to tell her what had happened.

“My son was not there.”

“Well?”

“Well, you can guess the rest.  Not one person remains alive of that devil’s household.”

Madam Marx gasped at the magnitude of the crime, and though her terrors increased, her pride in the man capable of so tremendous revenge increased also.

“What will happen to you?” she found voice to ask.

“Nothing.  I must hide here.  We were not seen.  Besides, you remember the last time a Greek murdered a Jew—­it was at Port Said—­the matter was hushed up.  Our consuls care as little for Jews as we do.  My God, how glad I am I killed him!”

His eyes were fixed on the street as he spoke, and suddenly he started to his feet.  Madam rose too, and clung to him.  He pushed her roughly on one side, while an evil smile played on his lips.

“By God, she shall come back now!”

“Who?”

“Xantippe.  There is no need for her to live with the Englishman now.  Our son is dead and the Jew in hell.  I will at least have my wife back.”

“She will not come.”

“She will come.  By God, I will make her!  I have tasted blood to-night, and I am not a child to be treated with contempt.  I say I will make her come.”

“But if she refuses?”

“Then I will take care she does not go back to the Englishman.”

“You will—­” but madam’s voice faltered.  Gregorio read her meaning and laughed a yes.

“But, Gregorio, think; you will be hanged for that.  You wife is not a Jewess.”

But Gregorio laughed again and strode into the street.  He was mad with grief and the intoxicating draughts of vengeance he had swallowed.  He strode across the road and mounted the stairs with steady feet.  Madam Marx followed him, weeping and calling on him to come back.  As he reached the door of his room she flung herself before him, but he pushed her on one side with his feet and shut the door behind him as he entered.

Lying on the threshold, she heard the bolt fastened, and knew the last act of the tragedy was begun.

XI—­HUSBAND AND WIFE

As Gregorio entered the room, Xantippe, who was kneeling by a box into which she was placing clothes neatly folded, turned her head and said laughingly: 

“You are impatient, my friend; I have nearly—­”

But recognising Gregorio, she did not finish the sentence.  She sat down on the edge of the box.  Her face became white, and the blood left her lips.  With a great effort she remained quiet and folded her hands on her lap.

Gregorio looked at her for a moment, a cruel smile making his sinister face appear almost terrible, and his bloodshot eyes glared at her savagely.  At last he broke the silence by shouting her name hoarsely, making at the same time a movement toward her.  He looked like a wild animal about to spring upon his prey.  Xantippe, however, did not flinch, answering softly: