tatterdemalion brigade of Frenchmen came down upon him out of the night,
and how he should have killed Rullecour himself had it not been for an
officer who struck him down from behind.

During the recital Ranulph had drawn near. He watched the enthusiasm
with which the crowd received every little detail of the egregious
history. Everybody believed the old man, who was safe, no matter what
happened to himself, Ranulph Delagarde, ex-artilleryman, ship-builder--
and son of a criminal. At any rate the worst was over now, the first
public statement of the lifelong lie. He drew a sigh of relief and
misery in one. At that instant he caught sight of the flushed face of
Detricand, who broke into a laugh of tipsy mirth when Olivier Delagarde
told how the French officer had stricken him down as he was about
finishing off Rullecour.

All at once the whole thing rushed upon Ranulph. What a fool he had
been! He had met this officer of Rullecour's these ten years past, and
never once had the Frenchman, by so much as a hint, suggested that he
knew the truth about his father. Here and now the contemptuous mirth
upon the Frenchman's face told the whole story. The danger and horror of
the situation descended on him. Instantly he started towards Detricand.

At that moment his father caught sight of Detricand also, saw the laugh,
the sneer, and recognised him. Halting short in his speech he turned
pale and trembled, staring as at a ghost. He had never counted on this.
His breath almost stopped as he saw Ranulph approach Detricand.

Now the end was come. His fabric of lies would be torn down; he would be
tried and hanged on the Mont es Pendus, or even be torn to pieces by this
crowd. Yet he could not have moved a foot from where he was if he had