“I will not wrong Marie. I will not deprive an innocent woman of a husband’s love, of an imperial diadem, to gratify my own ambition! Once—with shame I confess it—I desired her to walk in the ways of guilt; nay, I have plotted for that very end; her fall should be my stepping-stone to glory and power; but now my eyes have become opened. Equivocal as the Empress’s conduct may have seemed, I do not believe that her love has ever seriously wandered from you. If your Majesty will sit calmly down and listen to me, I will so prove her innocence that——” The sentence was never finished. Marie, overwhelmed by emotion, at this moment clutched at the _portiêre_, and the curtain fell. The fabric, though light, made a swish that caused the Czar to turn his head toward the alcove. And there, clearly revealed in the brilliant light, stood Wilfrid and the missing Czarina! CHAPTER XXXI “I BELONG TO WILFRID, NOT TO YOU” There was a spell of terrible silence, followed by an impulsive cry from the Czar. “Marie!” More dead than alive the Czarina leaned against the side of the alcove, her eyes set with a dreadful stare upon the face of the man whom she could not think of as her husband. To her he seemed a veritable stranger. And yet he had the right to take her from Wilfrid and do with her as he listed; and as her dazed mind realised this there broke from her bloodless lips a shivering mournful cry, like water reeds when thrilled by the evening breeze. As for the Czar, his mind was filled with consternation, rage, and embarrassment. Though he saw before him his missing wife secreted in an alcove with her lover, he was conscious of the ludicrousness of posing as an injured husband, seeing that he was himself caught in the very act of making love to Pauline. The latter was scarcely less agitated than Marie herself. The deception practised by her during the preceding month was now laid bare to Wilfrid. She had hoped, by making a voluntary confession that night, to dull the edge of his anger. Too late now! After her first hasty glance at the alcove she stood with averted eyes, fearing to meet his reproachful gaze. Of the four Wilfrid was the least embarrassed, though he scarcely knew how to act in this dilemma. By the law of God and of man Marie belonged to her husband. Yet a rapid review of the facts—in particular the Czar’s illicit love-making—made Wilfrid hesitate to resign her unconditionally to a man whom she abhorred, and who had vowed his intention of immuring her for life within a convent. The Czar was the first to break the silence. “An interesting tableau!” he said with a bitter sneer. “The guilty wife and her paramour hiding from the husband’s gaze.” Wilfrid’s eyes flashed dangerously, though he was compelled to admit that the accusation was natural in the circumstances. “A word of caution, Sire. We Courtenays are not accustomed to take insults, even from emperors.” “Brave words from the hero that fled the duel!”