the sale upon that basis.

"Money cannot buy the things that Frenchmen love. We are not a race of
hucksters," retorted the Seigneur.

"That accounts for your envious dispositions then. You can't buy what
you want--you love such curious things, I assume. So you play the dog in
the manger, and won't let other decent folk buy what they want." He
wilfully distorted the other's meaning, and was delighted to see the
Seigneur's fingers twitch with fury. "But since you can't buy the things
you love--and you seem to think you should--how do you get them? Do you
come by them honestly? or do you work miracles? When a spider makes
love to his lady he dances before her to infatuate her, and then in a
moment of her delighted aberration snatches at her affections. Is it the
way of the spider then?"

With a snarl as of a wild beast, Louis Racine sprang forward and struck
Fournel in the face with his clinched fist. Then, as Fournel, blinded,
staggered back upon the book-shelves, he snatched two antique swords from
the wall. Throwing one on the floor in front of the Englishman, he ran
to the door and locked it, and turned round, the sword grasped firmly in
his hand, and white with rage.

"Spider! Spider! By Heaven, you shall have the spider dance before
you!" he said hoarsely. He had mistaken Fournel's meaning. He had put
the most horrible construction upon it. He thought that Fournel referred
to his deformity, and had ruthlessly dragged in Madelinette as well.

He was like a being distraught. His long brown hair was tossed over his
blanched forehead and piercing black eyes. His head was thrown forward