“Until the time comes,” assented that worthy dryly.

“Until the time comes,” reiterated the other.  “Now, my wench,” he added, once more turning to Esther, “I don’t want that time to come.  I don’t want your pretty head to go rolling down into the basket, and to receive the slap on the face which the citizen executioner has of late taken to bestowing on those aristocratic cheeks which Mme. la Guillotine has finally blanched for ever.  Like this, you see.”

And the inhuman wretch took up one of the round cushions from the nearest chair, held it up at arm’s length, as if it were a head which he held by the hair, and then slapped it twice with the palm of his left hand.  The gesture was so horrible and withal so grotesque, that Esther closed her eyes with a shudder, and her pale cheeks took on a leaden hue.  Merri laughed aloud and threw the cushion down again.

“Unpleasant, what? my pretty wench!  Well, you know what to expect... unless,” he added significantly, “you are reasonable and will listen to what I am about to tell you.”

Esther was no fool, nor was she unsophisticated.  These were not times when it was possible for any girl, however carefully nurtured and tenderly brought up, to remain ignorant of the realities and the brutalities of life.  Even before Merri had put his abominable proposition before her, she knew what he was driving at.  Marriage—­ marriage to him! that ignoble wretch, more vile than any dumb creature!  In exchange for her life!

It was her turn now to laugh.  The very thought of it was farcical in its very odiousness.  Merri, who had embarked on his proposal with grandiloquent phraseology, suddenly paused, almost awed by that strange, hysterical laughter.

“By Satan and all his ghouls!” he cried, and jumped to his feet, his cheeks paling beneath the grime.

Then rage seized him at his own cowardice.  His egregious vanity, wounded by that laughter, egged him on.  He tried to seize Esther by the waist.  But she, quick as some panther on the defence, had jumped up, too, and pounced upon a knife—­the very one she had been using for that happy little supper with her lover a brief half hour ago.  Unguarded, unthinking, acting just with a blind instinct, she raised it and cried hoarsely: 

“If you dare touch me, I’ll kill you!”

It was ludicrous, of course.  A mouse threatening a tiger.  The very next moment Rateau had seized her hand and quietly taken away the knife.  Merri shook himself like a frowsy dog.

“Whew!” he ejaculated.  “What a vixen!  But,” he added lightly, “I like her all the better for that—­eh, Rateau?  Give me a wench with a temperament, I say!”

But Esther, too, had recovered herself.  She realised her helplessness, and gathered courage from the consciousness of it!  Now she faced the infamous villain more calmly.