Automatically, Madeleine's graceful hand accepted the glass, but her eyes remained adjoined to his. Additional ripples of chill trickled up her back. She knew of his reputation, his ruthless brutality, had even guessed that such tales might be… could be true, but she had never dreamed that she, herself, would ever witness any indication enlightening that part of his character. Dear God, she thought she was previewing it now… but why? Had she done something! Where was Antoine…?

From the moment he handed her the glass he never stopped moving closer to her. They were nearly of equal height. She felt his great middle pressing ever stronger against her, his round, scarred face closing in on her own. The meaning of the gesture was beyond her and Madeleine stood her ground, iced fear stiffening her being. But, then, within that scope of inches, she saw the blurred visage of his puckering lips swooping in upon her own, and she realized the affront.

"Uncle Gaston! My God! What're you trying to do…?"

Her hands, one still holding a glass, came up between them, rigid at arm's-bent length against his chest. She backed several feet toward the locked door behind her and gaped at him.

"I was going to kiss you," he hissed, the wild satyrism she had read in his eyes even more pronounced now. "I'm sure you're familiar with the act."

"Uncle Gaston…! I-I just don't… I don't understand…! Please… please, let's go join the others…"

"Shut up, slut! Shut your fucking mouth!" he spat at her.

Madeleine stared in utter disbelieving, mounting horror at the squat despot of crime before her… this man who not only controlled the vile and vicious underworld, but whose company the wealthy and famous competed for, while the lewd word he had blurted at her ricocheted like a giant, depraved, evil omen in her brain.