"The—"
"Yes!—that—that—that! in payment for mine, which I've sold to you. Fair exchange is no robbery. I love him, do you hear? I've accepted my dismissal at his hands, but I do not choose that you should continue to plot against him, with another woman as bait, and with a spy in his rooms watching for every little slip and folly, and ready, when you say so, to post them all before the world—unless he pays! Dieu! I can imagine you, as you were with Chauvigny, with little De Vitzoff, with young Baxter, with Sir Henry Gore, and the rest of them! 'Unfortunate, of course, but really, you see, you've been most imprudent, and every precaution must be taken to prevent the details of this affair leaking out.' Et cetera! 'The only safe way with these people is to buy them off.' Et cetera! 'If you will put yourself in my hands, I think I can manage it for ten—twenty—thirty thousand francs.' Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera! Eh bien—non! I do not choose to have it so with the man I love. There are other fish for you to catch. Let me have this one's life. That much you owe me. As you call yourself a man, pay me and let me go!"
She had risen with the intensity of her appeal, and now, white with passion, Radwalader flashed to his feet at her side.
"By Heaven, Mirabelle—!"
"And by Heaven, Monsieur Radwalader! What then? Are you going to threaten me? Do you take me for a Jules Vicot, at least? Do my hands tremble? Do I shrink before you? Ah, that might have been possible at first: for I don't deny that I've feared you at times; but now—zut! It's not the first time, my Radwalader, that the pupil has out-stripped the master. You've taught me too much for your own good. Voyons! A secret is safe just so long as one person knows it, and only one. But no man is secure, from the moment when he confides to others that he's not what he pretends to be. But you?—you are different. For two years past, to my knowledge, and probably for many more, you've been building up a house of cards. It's growing very tall, Monsieur Radwalader, very dangerously tall. You think the foundations strong, but they weaken with every card you add. Allons! Enough of this brawling. You know what I demand."
"And if I refuse?" suggested Radwalader.
"If you refuse? Ah, then your game is indeed ended and your house of cards blown down! For I'll make your name notorious, not only in Paris, but in every capital of Europe. They shall have all the details—all that Vicot, as well as I, can give them. By the blood of Christ, monsieur, if you don't promise what I ask, in three days the name of Thomas Radwalader, swindler, card-sharp, blackmailer, and blood-sucker, shall be the common property of the civilized world! What have I to lose, or fear, or even consider? Nothing! You know that, as well as I. And I'll save the man I love from the trap you're preparing for him, even if I send myself to St. Lazare!"
Radwalader sank back easily into his chair.
"My good Mirabelle," he said, "all this is very admirable as sentiment and, I must say, extraordinarily well done. It's a pity that it should be wasted upon an impossible situation. Be patient with me for a moment, and I'll show you precisely why you'll neither edify the capitals of Europe with an account of my private affairs nor compel me to do anything but what I choose to do in the case of Mr. Andrew Vane. We are three in number: I, a gentleman who chooses, for reasons of his own, to keep one side of his life from the view of the general public; you, a very charming girl, most cruelly, but nevertheless conspicuously, avoided by the members of your sex who pride themselves upon respectability; and Andrew Vane, a young person wounded perhaps, but as yet not mortally, by the shafts of scandal. Now, let us see. You desire to snatch him from the—what is it?—pit?—pitfall?—ah! trap—which I am preparing for him. How do you go about it? You first associate my name with several most unpleasant terms of reproach, and then proceed to drag the combination before the public, and say, 'Here is the intimate companion of the man I love!' What does that mean? The man you love—you! What a happy revelation for the friends and family of Andrew Vane, who has been dawdling in your arms, while another woman as much as held his plighted word! I won't dwell on it. It's a subject by reference to which I've never sought to humiliate you—but you've driven me to touch upon it. Believe me, my friend, if it's indeed your wish to save Andrew Vane from disgrace, you should devise some project more promising than a public proclamation of the fact that you've been his mistress these few weeks past. You tell me you've nothing to fear and nothing to lose. You'll add, perhaps, that the fact's already public property, but it isn't. It's public gossip, which is a very different thing. The plain fact is this: from the instant when you associate your name with his, he's ruined absolutely and irretrievably."