"Stale!" repeated Gualtier. "There are things which can never be stale, and in such things you and I have been partners. Must I remind you of them?"
"It's not at all necessary. You had much better leave, and go back to England, or any where else."
These words stung Gualtier.
"I will recall them," he cried, in a low, fierce voice. "You have a convenient memory, and may succeed for a time in banishing your thoughts, but you have that on your soul which no efforts of yours can banish--things which must haunt you, cold-blooded as you are, even as they have haunted me--my God!--and haunt me yet."
"The state of your mind is of no concern to me. You had better obey my order, and go, so as not to add any more to your present apparent troubles."
"Your taunts are foolish," said Gualtier, savagely. "You are in my power. What if I use it?"
"Use it, then."
Gualtier made a gesture of despair.
"Do you know what it means?" he exclaimed.
"I suppose so."