At the young man's ominous words, M. le Comte's sunken cheeks grew a shade more pale.
"What catastrophe, mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, "could fall on my house that would be worse than twenty years of exile?"
"An alliance with a traitor, M. le Comte," said St. Genis firmly.
A gasp went round the room, a sigh, a cry. The women looked in mute horror from one man to the other, the men already had their right hand on their swords. But Clyffurde's eyes were fixed upon Crystal, who pale, silent, rigid as a marble statue, with lips parted and nostrils quivering, stood not five paces away from him, her dilated eyes wandering ceaselessly from the face of St. Genis to that of de Marmont and thence to that of her father. But beyond that look of tense excitement she revealed nothing of what she thought and felt.
Already de Marmont—his hand upon his sword—had advanced menacingly towards St. Genis.
"M. le Marquis," he said between set teeth, "you will, by God! eat those words, or——"
"Eat my words, man?" retorted St. Genis with a harsh laugh. "By Heaven! have I not come here on purpose to throw my words into your lying face?"
There was a brief but violent skirmish, for de Marmont had made a movement as if he meant to spring at his rival's throat, and Général Marchand and the Vicomte de Génevois, who happened to be near, had much ado to seize and hold him: even so they could not stop the hoarse cries which he uttered:
"Liar! Liar! Liar! Let me go! Let me get to him! I must kill him! I must kill him!"
The Comte interposed his dignified person between the two men.