‘I scarce like to put a name upon it in this company,’ replied Romaine.  ’But there are worse things than even bankruptcy, and worse places than a debtors’ jail.’

The words were so significantly said that there went a visible thrill through Alain; sudden as a sword-stroke, he fell pale again.

‘I do not understand you,’ said he.

‘O yes, you do,’ returned Romaine.  ’I believe you understand me very well.  You must not suppose that all this time, while you were so very busy, others were entirely idle.  You must not fancy, because I am an Englishman, that I have not the intelligence to pursue an inquiry.  Great as is my regard for the honour of your house, M. Alain de St.-Yves, if I hear of you moving directly or indirectly in this matter, I shall do my duty, let it cost what it will:  that is, I shall communicate the real name of the Buonapartist spy who signs his letters Rue Gregoire de Tours.’

I confess my heart was already almost altogether on the side of my insulted and unhappy cousin; and if it had not been before, it must have been so now, so horrid was the shock with which he heard his infamy exposed.  Speech was denied him; he carried his hand to his neckcloth; he staggered; I thought he must have fallen.  I ran to help him, and at that he revived, recoiled before me, and stood there with arms stretched forth as if to preserve himself from the outrage of my touch.

‘Hands off!’ he somehow managed to articulate.

‘You will now, I hope,’ pursued the lawyer, without any change of voice, ’understand the position in which you are placed, and how delicately it behoves you to conduct yourself.  Your arrest hangs, if I may so express myself, by a hair; and as you will be under the perpetual vigilance of myself and my agents, you must look to it narrowly that you walk straight.  Upon the least dubiety, I will take action.’  He snuffed, looking critically at the tortured man.  ’And now let me remind you that your chaise is at the door.  This interview is agitating to his lordship—­it cannot be agreeable for you—­and I suggest that it need not be further drawn out.  It does not enter into the views of your uncle, the Count, that you should again sleep under this roof.’

As Alain turned and passed without a word or a sign from the apartment, I instantly followed.  I suppose I must be at bottom possessed of some humanity; at least, this accumulated torture, this slow butchery of a man as by quarters of rock, had wholly changed my sympathies.  At that moment I loathed both my uncle and the lawyer for their coldblooded cruelty.

Leaning over the banisters, I was but in time to hear his hasty footsteps in that hall that had been crowded with servants to honour his coming, and was now left empty against his friendless departure.  A moment later, and the echoes rang, and the air whistled in my ears, as he slammed the door on his departing footsteps.  The fury of the concussion gave me (had one been still wanted) a measure of the turmoil of his passions.  In a sense, I felt with him; I felt how he would have gloried to slam that door on my uncle, the lawyer, myself, and the whole crowd of those who had been witnesses to his humiliation.