"You get the one treasure.
To-morrow I go to the bank, the telegraph, you understand, but not
till you have the other money safe." Her eyes sparkle. A double
fortune! A double revenge! A veritable "coup de Machiavelli."
"And I must go, dearest. I wait for you to-morrow. You get your
money; then I am off to the bank, and we will secure the rest.
Bravo!"
Jules snaps his fingers at the imbeciles. He sees the "Hotel Tessier"
rising in cloudland.
"Press this proud woman hard now. Be careful. I will pay the coupe;
we might be followed."
While Jules is absent, Marie dreams the rosy dreams of fruition.
Love, avarice, revenge!
Down through the entrance, they saunter singly. Both are Parisians.
After a square or two brings them to night's obscurity, parting
kisses seal the dark bond; Judge Hardin shall pay after madame;
Marie's velvet hand grips Jules' palm in a sinful compact.
Home by the usual way, past Notre Dame, and Jules will discreetly
watch her safety till she reaches the omnibus.
She knows not when she reaches Notre Dame that Tessier lies behind
her, stunned upon the sidewalk, his pockets rifled, and his senses
reeling under brutal blows. Her heart is blithe, for here, under
the shade of Notre Dame, she is safe.
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