She seemed to experience anew the same agony of
terror she had felt twenty years before; and this lent such
poignant intensity to the interest of her narrative that if M.
Wilkie's heart was not exactly touched, he was, as he afterward
confessed, at least rather interested. But Madame d'Argeles
seemed to have forgotten his existence. She wiped away the foam-
flecked blood which had risen to her lips, and in the same
mournful voice resumed her story.
"When I regained my senses it was morning, and I was lying, still
dressed, on a bed in a strange room. Arthur Gordon was standing
at the foot of the bed anxiously watching my movements. He did
not give me time to question him. 'You are in my house,' said he.
'Your brother is dead!' Almighty God! I thought I should die as
well. I hoped so. I prayed for death. But, in spite of my sobs,
he pitilessly continued: 'It is a terrible misfortune which I
shall never cease to regret. And yet, it was his own fault. You,
who witnessed the scene. know that it was so. You can still see
on my face the mark of the blow he dealt me. I only defended
myself and you.' I was ignorant then of the accepted code of
duelling. I did not know that by throwing himself upon my brother
before he was on guard, Arthur Gordon had virtually assassinated
him. He relied upon my ignorance for the success of the sinister
farce he was playing.
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