"I hope so," said Jim, anxiously. "You came here to speak."
"Behold, Monsieur, I do so; and why? Figure to yourself the reason." Rouge rose slowly from his chair. "I--I am no Anarchist."
"You--are--no--Anarchist?" repeated Aldean, stupefied.
"No, I am become one to destroy them. It is my vengeance."
"Vengeance, Monsieur Rouge?"
"That is not my name. I am Emile Durand, citizen of Paris, who devotes himself to destroying those who would destroy the world. Ha! ha! Superb, magnificent. Monsieur," with a sudden solemnity of tone, "I avenge my wife and my child."
"Why, did the Anarchists kill----"
"Yes." Rouge covered his face, and dropped back into the chair, sobbing. "Ah, yes, alas! My dear Sophie, my little child! the good God was silent, and they died--died, and I--I still live."
Lord Aldean looked with pity on the frame of the man, shaken with the violence of his grief. He succumbed to a veritable nerve-storm which swept over him. He wept, he cried aloud, he rolled in his chair, until, beaten and prostrate, he fell back limply.
"My poor fellow, I am sorry for you. Some wine----"