"Madame," Falkenberg declared, "to secure the death of that man I would have destroyed a whole quarter of Paris and every person in it."
Madame Christophor shivered.
"Thorough, as usual, my dear Prince," she murmured. "Nevertheless, I find such statements loathsome. We should have outlived the days of barbarity. I do not understand men who deal in such fashion with their enemies."
Falkenberg frowned.
"There is something between us greater than personal enmity," he retorted fiercely. "My personal enemy I would deal with in such a manner as I make no doubt would commend itself to your scruples. Julien Portel is more than that. He is the enemy of my country. Upon him, therefore, I shall have no mercy."
"I will not argue with you," she replied. "There is a plainer issue before us. In passing my threshold you have broken your word of honor. What do you want?"
"I want Julien Portel!"
Madame Christophor shrugged her shoulders.
"You have wanted him for some little time."
"Never so badly as at this instant," Falkenberg declared bitterly. "He has set all Europe in a ferment with those infernal letters. He knows too much. He knows whence came the money which bought Le Jour. He knows every detail of my campaign here."