A spasmodic tremor passed through Sainte-Croix’s frame; his hands were clenched and his lip quivered. The convulsion was slight and rapid, but it was observed by Exili. He went on.
‘It is annoying, too, to dream that others may share her affections whilst you are imprisoned here. Her years are but few—her blood is young and vivid. The Marquis, too, neglects her—so goes report in Paris—and she must have some one to attach herself to.’
‘No more!—no more!’ cried Gaudin, with a sudden and violent outburst of passion. ‘Fiend! demon! what drives you thus to madden me?’
‘These are harsh terms to christen me by,’ returned Exili, with a ghastly smile; ‘especially when it is in my power to place in your possession what you now desire above anything else the world could bestow.’
‘And what is that?’ asked Gaudin, assuming an indifference through his anger.
‘Vengeance!’ returned Exili, as he raised himself on the pallet, and glared upon Sainte-Croix like a basilisk.
A scornful expression of contempt was Gaudin’s only reply.
But Exili saw that his prey was coquetting with the bait. He continued—
‘There are dull moralists and fools who will tell you that revenge is an ignoble passion, fitted only to those grovelling spirits who dare not resent an injury, and yet are too sharply stung to pass it over. Believe them not; it is a glorious triumph of retribution, although the success of the cast will alone decide whether it will be called justice or cowardice by the world. You are indebted for your present position to Dreux d’Aubray; you burn for vengeance. If you fail the world will call you pitiful, mean, lâche: succeed, and you become a hero. Suppose I make that success certain!’
‘Pshaw! you are leading me on to some new toil,’ said Gaudin. ‘We are powerless here; were we otherwise, I should mistrust you. This is no place for bandying smooth phrases; nor are our relations towards each other such as require them. You know my sentiments towards you.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, ‘What plan do you propose?’