The case contained a portrait, certainly--a miniature painted on ivory--but it was not the one he sought. At the first glance Oswald started, surprised in the highest degree. 'Edmund's likeness!' he murmured, under his breath. 'Strange that I should never have seen it before. Besides, he has never worn uniform, to my knowledge.' With ever-increasing astonishment he examined first the miniature, which so unmistakably portrayed the young Count's features, and then the old-fashioned and discoloured case wherein it had evidently long lain enclosed. He had alighted on an enigma. 'What can it mean? The portrait is an old one. That is plain from its colouring, and from the shape of the case--yet it represents Edmund as he now appears. To be sure, it is not quite like him, it has an expression, a look which is not his, and ... Ah!' This exclamation burst from his lips with sudden vehemence. In an instant the young man's eyes were opened. With the vividness of lightning, the truth flashed upon him, the perception of all that was, and had been. The enigma was solved. Hastily he strode up to a life-size portrait of Edmund, an oil-painting which hung in the Countess's boudoir, and with the open case in his hand, began comparing the two, feature by feature, line by line. Lines and features proved identical; there were the same dark hair and eyes, but with a difference, a marked difference of expression. The resemblance to Edmund was so extraordinary that he might have sat for the miniature, and yet the face depicted in it was not his, but another's. Another's, differing from the young Count's most essentially, as a prolonged examination abundantly showed. 'So I was right!' said Oswald, in a low hoarse tone. 'Right in my suspicion after all!' There was neither triumph nor malicious satisfaction in his tone. On the contrary, it conveyed a certain unfeigned horror; but as he caught sight of the secret compartment now standing open, every other feeling was merged in sudden, bitter anger. 'Yes,' he murmured. 'She hid it well--so well, that no eyes but hers would ever have beheld it, had not her mortal fear on Edmund's account for once robbed her of all prudence and power of reflection. To think that it should fall into my hands! This surely is more than a mere accident. I think'--here Oswald drew himself up to a proud and menacing attitude--'I think I have a right to ask whom this picture represents, and I shall retain possession of it until an answer to my plain question be given me.' So saying, he thrust the little case into his breast-pocket, and quickly left the room.