But I don’t suppose you can understand. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. His heir is dead, yes, and his name and title available to me. You understand me, sirrah?" "Perfectly," replied Jack.
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