"
"'Is it you, Frances?' he asked.
"'No,' I said, stepping before him. 'It is her sister, Monsieur
Holladay!'
"He stared up at me with such a look of dismay and anger on his face
that I was fairly frightened; then, in the same instant, before I
could draw breath, before I could say another word, his face grew
purple, monsieur, and he fell forward on his desk, on his hand, on the
knife, which was clasped in it. I tried to check the blood, but could
not, it poured forth in such a stream. I knew not what to do; I was
distracted, and in a frenzy, I left the place and hurried to our
lodgings. That is the truth, monsieur; believe me."
"I do believe you," I said; and she turned again to the window to hide
her tears.
"It was then," went on her mother, "that that man yonder had another
inspiration. Before it had been only--what you call--blackmail--a few
thousands, perhaps a pension; now it was something more--he was
playing for a greater stake. I do not know all that he planned. He
found Celeste suspected of having killed her father; he must get her
released at any cost; so he wrote a note----"
"Yes," I cried. "Yes, of course; I see. Miss Holladay under arrest was
beyond his reach."
"Yes," she nodded, "so he wrote a note--oh, you should have seen him
in those days! He was like some furious wild beast.
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