"Have you a cloak?" asked Steinmetz.
"No."
The German went to a cupboard in the wall and selected a long
riding-cloak, which he handed to the Frenchman without a word.
Thus Claude de Chauxville walked to the door in a cloak which had
figured at many a Charity League meeting. Assuredly the irony of Fate is
a keener thing than any poor humor we have at our command. When evil is
punished in this present life there is no staying of the hand.
Steinmetz followed De Chauxville through the long passage they had
traversed a few minutes earlier and down the broad staircase. The
servants were waiting at the door with the horse put at the Frenchman's
disposal by Paul.
De Chauxville mounted slowly, heavily, with twitching lips. His face was
set and cold now. The pain was getting bearable, the wounded vanity was
bleeding inwardly. In his dull eyes there was a gleam of hatred and
malice. It was the face of a man rejoicing inwardly over a deep and
certain vengeance.
"It is well!" he was muttering between his clenched teeth as he rode
away, while Steinmetz watched him from the doorstep. "It is well! Now I
will not spare you."
He rode down the hill and through the village, with the light of the
setting sun shining on a face where pain and deadly rage were fighting
for the mastery.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A TALE THAT IS TOLD
Karl Steinmetz walked slowly upstairs to his own room.
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