To tell the truth, he's only paying attention to Mlle Mornas. He fixes her with his menacing eyes, into which there gradually comes an evil light.

"You'll realize my power now," he says at last, "and I've shown you that my offers are not to be sneezed at. I renew them for the last time. I'm told that among you are a politician, a doctor, a journalist, and two halfwits. . .."

For M. Poncin, agreedl But for poor St. Berain, what an injustice!

"If need be, the politician can negotiate with France, I shall build a hospital for the doctor, the journalist can work on the Blackland Thunderbolt, and I'll find a way of using the two others. There remains the child. I like her ... I'll marry her."

Our consternation may well be imagined to hear so unexpected a conclusion. But, with a madman! . . .

"None of that will happen," M. Barsac replies firmly. "The aborninable crimes of which you've made us the witnesses haven't shaken us. We shall submit to force because we have to, but never shall we consent to be anything more than your prisoners or your victims. As for Mlle Mornas. . . ."

"Oh, it's Mornas that my future wife is called, is it?" Harry Killer interrupts him.

"Whether I call myself Mornas or not," cries our comrade, absolutely wild with anger, "understand that I regard you as a wild beast, as contemptible as you are disgusting, and I regard your proposal as an insult, the vilest, the most shameful, the most.. .."

The voice chokes in her throat. As for Hany Killer, he merely laughs. The wind's certainly blowing towards mercy.

"That's fine . . . that's fine . . ." he says. "No hurry.