"Prevent you from reaping the fruits of your iniquity. You know you
were never General Wilders's wife; you were always mine. Worse luck!"
"You cannot prove it. You are dead. You dare not reappear."
"Wait and see," he replied, very coolly.
"You have no proofs, I say, of the marriage."
"They are safe at the Mairie, in Paris. French archives are carefully
kept. I have only to ask for a certificate; it's easy enough."
"For any one who could go there. But how will you dare to show
yourself in Paris? You are proscribed; a price is set on your head.
Your life would be forfeited."
"I will risk all that, and more, to ruin your wicked game."
"Do so at your peril."
"You threaten me, vile wretch? Be careful. The measure of your
iniquity is nearly full. Punishment must soon overtake you; your
misdeeds are well known; your complicity with--"
Why should he tell her? Why warn her of the net that was closing round
her, and thus help her to escape from the toils?
But she had caught at his words.
"Complicity?" she repeated, anxiously. "With whom?"
"No matter. Only look to yourself. It is war, war to the knife,
unquenchable war between us, remember that."
And with these words he left the house.
Although she had shown a bold front, Mrs. Wilders, as we shall still
call her, was greatly agitated by this stormy scene, and it was with a
blanched cheek and faltering step that she sought her confederate in
the next room.
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