"I have almost recovered. I therefore beg of my kind host permission to depart. I shall take a cab near by in Wellington street and so reach my hotel in twenty minutes. Tomorrow, unless fever seizes me, I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you to learn how you fare after our rough experience. There remains now only to inquire whether you deem it advisable to report this assault, Monsieur Naundorff, in order that the scoundrels may receive their just deserts."
This very natural query was disquieting to the host, and with contracted lips, he objected:
"Make report? No, no. I would suffer everything rather than appeal to human justice. Leave human justice to her caverns, her lairs. I prefer to deal with the malefactors who all but made off with us. At least," he added excitedly in a hoarse voice, "at least they strike blows and dispatch their victims. Oh, deliver me from prolonged martyrdom, from shredding of flesh fibre by fibre Let the end come speedily and then—rest. The justice of God is retributive, infallible."
At this point Amélie arose and threw herself into her father's arms, while Jeanne buried her face in her hands. René observed that the wife was not really included in the demonstration and that Naundorff and Amélie constituted a group of attuned souls. As she drew herself from her father who kissed her fair forehead, she turned to René and said serenely:
"Monsieur Marquis de Brezé, we have complied to the extent of our power with the obligations of hospitality and gratitude. We owe you an eternal debt. On leaving, you shall carry with you my father's pistols, which he imprudently refuses to carry himself, notwithstanding numerous evidences of treachery. But before you leave, I wish to hear my father vindicate himself."
She made a significant gesture to Naundorff, who then said gently to his wife:
"Jeanne, my own, go and see if the children are sleeping. Don't let them know what has happened to-night."
Jeanne complied with a smile. Amélie then resumed the conversation with her usual vivacity.
"Without detracting from our gratitude, Marquis, permit me to say that friendship must be based upon esteem. If you do not esteem my father according to his deserts; if, on saving his life through a noble impulse, you fail to profess for him a respect which is his due, we shall perpetuate our gratitude but withhold our hospitality in the future, unless some day you call upon us, to demand the life to which your conduct tonight entitles you. This is my attitude, Monsieur, and my father's also."
"What do you mean, my daughter?" interposed Naundorff.