“Then you will not marry Liane. She will be spared the misery of becoming Princess d’Auzac.”
“Misery!” he echoed. “I can give her wealth, position—everything which makes a woman happy.”
“I doubt whether any woman can be happy with a man whose conscience is overshadowed, like yours,” his companion observed. “Why, her face would remind you hourly of that which you must be ever striving to forget.”
“What does it matter to you?” he snarled. “I shall marry her.”
“Then before doing so you will pay me for my services. Your stroke is a bold one, Zertho, but remember that you can marry her only through me. It is worth a good sum to obtain such a beautiful wife.”
“Whatever it may be worth, you’ll never get it,” d’Auzac declared determinedly.
The two men faced each other.
“In which case she will be enabled to release herself,” observed the inventor of the infallible system.
“Who will suffer, then? Why you, yourself.” Zertho stood leaning upon the back of the armchair in which he had been sitting. He well knew by this man’s attitude that he meant to “squeeze” him. Nevertheless, he treated his remarks with derision, laughing disdainfully.
“You appear to fancy that because you are now wealthy no words of mine can injure you,” the thin-faced man said. “Well, you are welcome to that opinion. The ostrich buries its head in the sand when pursued. You bury yours in the millions which have unexpectedly come to you.”