She became roused and agitated, and the thought flashed upon her that the man might be a maniac.
"You would not," she said, trying to reason with him, "have injured anyone so good and inoffensive as Monsieur de Répentigny?"
"Répentigny!" he cried. "It is because he bore that name that I tracked him to Troyes. It was a Répentigny who slew my father, and blessed was the light of the street lamp which showed me your lover was none of that brood."
"Who are you, then?" she inquired with the greatest earnestness.
"The Instrument of Vengeance. Do you hear it?" he continued, as if listening. "The Voice of Vengeance in the distance, approaching, approaching, calling, calling? Nearer, year by year, month by month, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment, until when it reaches my side I shall slay my enemy. When he fled to the farthest Indies, there he found me; now he is in Paris, and finds me here; wherever he goes he has found me. He knows his fate. He knows that I am the Instrument of Vengeance, that a day shall come that has not come, that this hand is the hand of heaven, and this sword the sword of the Almighty."
"Yes, thrust him through on the steps of our house--the House of the Golden Dog."
"But not my Germain!" she exclaimed eagerly and positively.
"You will bear him no ill-will at any time then?" she pleaded.
"On the contrary, he is now on my side. They are his enemies too."
"The Répentignys; but fear not, Mademoiselle, he is far superior to them. He shall triumph and prevail, for I shall keep him, and heaven has appointed me its Instrument. Nothing they do can prevail against me and our side."
"Why do you say they are his enemies? They are not always enemies who carry the same name."
"Mademoiselle, I see you know not _this_ name," he said with grave courtesy; "I see you know not _this_ name--this name of sorrow, this name of blood--my father's blood--alas! alas! alas! alas!" and his voice trembled with infinite dolor.
"Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."
He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in an unspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.
She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statements of Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pity for him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, and it was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions on that subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenance affected her powerfully, and the words, "You know not this name of sorrow, this name of blood," troubled her. The vengeance, the killing, the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? "Oh, Germain," she thought, continuing to weep, "some heavy cloud is hanging over you."