Not of fear; it was the utter surprise
of the thing--its incredible horror. To die by the hands of those
hairy brutes was not hard, but Desiree to be the judge!
For she meant death for us; I read it in her eyes. One of the
old stale proverbs of the stale old world was to have another
justification. I repeat that I was astounded, taken completely by
surprise; and yet I had known something of "the fury of a woman
scorned."
It was as though our eyes shot out to meet each other in an
embrace of death. She saw that I understood and she smiled--what
a smile! It was triumphant, and yet sad; a vengeance, and a
farewell. She put forth her hand.
It wavered among the quipos as though uncertainly, then closed
firmly on the black cord of death.
A thought flashed through my mind with the speed of lightning. I
raised my voice and sang out:
"Desiree!"
She hesitated; the hand which held the knife fell to her side and
again her eyes sought mine.
"What of Harry?" I called. "Take two--the white for him, the
black for me."
She shook her head and again raised the knife; and I played my
last card.
"Bah! Who are you? For you are not Le Mire!" I weighted my
voice with contempt.
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