I might have learned that this world has something more to offer than unhappiness and misery.  Yes, as you will have it, you shall have all.  I loved him ere I knew that you even existed.  I have only my own folly to blame, only my own unhappy weakness to deplore.  Why did I not steadily refuse to become your wife?  You say that you have slain George.  Not so, for in my heart his memory will ever remain bright and ineffaceable.”

“Beware!” said Norbert furiously, “beware if——­”

“Ah, would you kill me too?  Do not fear resistance; my life is a blank without him.  He is dead; let death come to me; it would be a welcome visitant.  The only kindness that you could now bestow upon me would be my death-blow.  Strike then, and end it all!  In death we should be united, George and I; and as my limbs grew stiff and my breath passed away, my whitening lips would murmur words of thanks.”

Norbert listened to her, overwhelmed by the intensity of her passion, and marvelling that he had any power to feel after the terrible event which had fallen upon his devoted head.

Could this be Marie, the soft and gentle woman, who spoke with such passionate vehemence and boldly braved his anger?  How could he have so misunderstood her?  He forgot all his anger in his admiration.  She seemed to him to have undergone a complete change.  There was an unearthly style of beauty around her—­her eyes blazed and shone with the lurid light of a far-distant planet, while her wealth of raven hair fell in disordered masses on her shoulders.  It was passion, real passion, that he beheld to-night, not that mere empty delusion which he had so long followed blindly.  Marie was really capable of a deep-rooted feeling of adoration for the man she loved, while with Diana de Mussidan, the woman with her fair hair and the steel-blue eyes, love was but the lust of conquest, or the desire to jeer at a suitor’s earnestness.  Ah, what a revelation had been made to him now!  And what would he not have given to have wiped out the past!  He advanced towards her with outstretched arms.

“Marie!” said he, “Marie!”

“I forbid you to call me Marie!” shrieked she wildly.

He made no reply, but still advanced towards her, when, with a terrible cry, she recoiled from him.

“Blood!” she screamed, “ah, heavens! he has blood upon his hands!”

Norbert glanced downwards; upon the wristband of his shirt there was a tell-tale crimson stain.

The Duchess raised her hand, and pointed towards the door.

“Leave me,” said she, with an extraordinary assumption of energy, “leave me; the secret of your crime is safe; I will not betray you or hand you over to justice.  But remember that a murdered man stands between us, and that I loathe and execrate you.”

Rage and jealousy tortured Norbert’s soul.  Though George de Croisenois was no more, he was still his successful rival in Marie’s love.