"
"Raoul du Laurier would scorn to spy upon me!" I broke out.
"How hard you are on spies. And how little knowledge of human nature you
have, after all, if you don't understand that a man suddenly out of his
head with jealousy will do things of which he'd be incapable when he was
sane."
The argument silenced me. I knew--I had known for a long time--that
jealousy could rouse a demon in Raoul. And only to-night he had reminded
me that he was a "jealous brute." I remembered what answer he had made
when I asked him what he would do if I deceived him. He said that he
would kill me, and kill himself after. As he spoke, the blood had
streamed up to his forehead, and streamed back again, leaving him pale.
A flash like steel had shot out of his eyes--the dear eyes that are not
cold. It was true, as this cruel wretch reminded me, Raoul would do
things under the torture of jealousy that he would cut off his hand
sooner than do when his own, sweet, poet-nature was in ascendancy.
"As a proof of what I say," Godensky went on, "du Laurier did wait, did
hear from me the place where you were to stop and pick me up. And if it
wouldn't be the worst of form to bet, I'd bet that he found some way of
getting there in time to see that I had told the truth.
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