presently. "The fact is, you want my skin."
"Yes, I want your skin," said Guerchard, in a low, savage, vindictive tone.
"My skin," said Lupin thoughtfully.
"Are you going to do it? Think of that girl," said Guerchard, in a fresh access of uneasy anxiety.
Lupin laughed: "I can give you a glass of port," he said, "but I'm afraid that's all I can do for you."
"I'll throw Victoire in," said Guerchard.
"What?" cried Lupin. "You've arrested Victoire?" There was a ring of utter dismay, almost despair, in his tone.
"Yes; and I'll throw her in. She shall go scot-free. I won't bother with her," said Guerchard eagerly.
The front-door bell rang.
"Wait, wait. Let me think," said Lupin hoarsely; and he strove to adjust his jostling ideas, to meet with a fresh plan this fresh disaster.
He stood listening with all his ears. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the door opened. Dieusy stood on the threshold.
"Who is it?" said Guerchard.
"I accept—I accept everything," cried Lupin in a frantic tone.
