half sliding through the woman's sheltering embrace, crumpled limply
into a massive upholstered chair. He, too, was dazed by the sudden
transition from his real world to his make-believe.

When his eyes cleared he saw Norma Berwynd struggling with her
husband, interposing her own slender body in his path. Francis was
cursing her foully for her unfaithfulness; his voice was thick and
brutal.

"Yes! It's true!" she cried, with hysterical defiance. "I never knew
till now; but it's true! It's _true_!"

"You've killed him!" Léontine chattered, shrilly, and emerged from the
shadows, her dark features ashen, her eyes ringed with white. Mrs.
Francis turned from her husband and flung her arms about the recumbent
man, calling wildly to him.

The dénouement had come with such swiftness that it left all four of
them appalled at their actions. Seeing what his brief insanity had led
him into, Francis felt his strength evaporate; his face went white,
his legs buckled beneath him. He scanned the place wildly in search of
means of escape.

"My God! My God!" Léontine was repeating. "Why doesn't somebody come?"

Now that his brain had cleared, and he knew what hand had smitten him,
and why, Phillips was by far the calmest of the four. He saw the knife
at his feet and smiled, for no steel could rob him of that gladness
which was pulsing through his veins. He was still smiling when he
stooped and picked up the weapon. He arose, lifting Norma to her feet;