"Not a dollar!" she answered coldly. "Five thousand dollars?" "Not a dollar!" she reiterated firmly. "Very well," he answered, weakly. "I have said you shall name your own price. Shall I go to my lawyer now, Xenie?" "Yes, now," she answered, with a flash of triumph in her eyes. He stood still a moment looking at her with a half-insane look of cunning on the wrinkled features that but a moment ago had been transformed by maniacal rage. "Poor boy!" he said, "you hate him very much, Xenie; I wonder what he has done to make you his enemy!" She did not answer, and the old millionaire went out of the room, after turning upon her a strange look of blended cunning and triumph which she could not understand. "Pshaw! he meant nothing by it," she said to herself to dispel the uneasy impression that glance had left. "The old man is getting weak and silly. One is scarcely safe alone with him." She shuddered at the recollection of what she had passed through, and going to her private room, locked the door and bathed her swollen, discolored face with a healing lotion. CHAPTER V. Xenie remained alone in her chamber until darkness gathered like a pall over every luxurious object about her. Her maid came and tapped at the door once, but she sent her away, saying that her head ached and she did not wish to be disturbed. It was quite true, for her heavy fall upon the floor had hurt her severely; so she remained quietly lying on a sofa until black darkness hid everything from her confused sight. Then there came a light tap upon the door again. She thought it was the maid to light the gas. "You may go away, Finette, I do not need you yet," she said, feeling that the darkness suited her mood the best. "It is I, Xenie. Open the door. I wish to speak to you," said her husband's voice. She went to the door, unlocked and threw it wide open. The light from the hall streamed in upon her pale and haggard face, her dress in disorder, her dark hair loose and dishevelled. "It is dark in there, I cannot see you, my darling," he said; "come across into my smoking-room in the light. I want to tell you something." He took her hand and drew her across the hall into a luxurious apartment he called his smoking-room. It was elegantly furnished with cushioned easy-chairs and lounges, while the floor was covered with a soft, Persian carpet and beautiful rugs. The marble mantel was decorated with costly meerschaums, and chibouques of various patterns and materials, and a richly gilded box stood in the center, containing cigars and perfumed smoking tobacco. On a marble-topped table in the center of the room stood two bottles of wine, and two richly-chased drinking glasses. "Well?" she inquired, half-fearfully, as he drew her in and carefully closed the door. "I have made my will, dear," he said, looking at her with a curious smile. "And you have cut Howard Templeton off without a shilling?" she said, anxiously.