"What false, lying charge is this you would trump up against me?"
"The murder of my dearest friend and comrade. Murder twice attempted. The first failed; the second, I fear, will prove fatal. If so, look to yourself, madam."
"What can you do?" she said, impudently, having regained much of her old effrontery.
"Prevent you from reaping the fruits of your iniquity. You know you were never General Wilders's wife; you were always mine. Worse luck!"
"You cannot prove it. You are dead. You dare not reappear."
"Wait and see," he replied, very coolly.
"You have no proofs, I say, of the marriage."
"They are safe at the Mairie, in Paris. French archives are carefully kept. I have only to ask for a certificate; it's easy enough."
"For any one who could go there. But how will you dare to show yourself in Paris? You are proscribed; a price is set on your head. Your life would be forfeited."
"I will risk all that, and more, to ruin your wicked game."