“Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. .
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