Hurrying to her own room, she bolted the door and lay down upon the bed. There she stayed in the darkness for at least two hours, fighting with her emotions. Anger at her insulted pride and the unjust accusations raged through her pulses; her fingers twisted together as if she were throttling her insulter. But it was Raphael, and that it was he, her most beloved creature on earth, who had so stained her innocent pleasures and herself, caused the tears to well to her eyes. But were these tears as innocent as they seemed? Up to that hour Judith had been one of the purest of Nature's children; her blood suggested no evil desire, nor did her fancy paint alluring pictures. Her innocence had draped her eyes like a veil. But now the veil, indeed, was not rent, but it grew more and more transparent the more she pondered on these things. Her cheeks burned more from shame than from tears, and she was forced to surrender herself helplessly to these ugly thoughts. But this accusation, painful as it was, roused her. Her anger reasserted itself--her anger and defiance--and pushed everything else into the background. She would think no more about it; she did not wish to know if he were right; he was not right, of that she was sure. He was blinded by his antipathy to Christians. She was blameless, and was she to be buried alive to gratify him? Just then she heard Wanda knocking at her door and begging her to hasten. Answering "I will be there directly," she washed the tears from her cheeks, called her maid, and dressed. When she entered the drawing-room, a half-hour later, Lady Anna came to meet her, supported by the church. "At last!" she exclaimed, delightedly. "And this must be your lucky day. I have rarely seen you look so pretty." In fact, her excitement had imparted an additional charm to her lovely face. The stout cleric grinned like a faun, and stroked chin. "Ha, ha! how her cheeks glow! Does her little heart beat so wildly?" He seemed inclined to prove the truth of his assertion. Judith turned deathly pale, and stepped back. "What do you mean?" Lady Anna whispered to her worthy admirer, who had evidently just come from the buffet. She glanced around, and saw they were forming a quadrille. Count Baranowski was fulfilling the disagreeable duty of dancing with the voluminous wife of the thin burgomaster. "Who knows," said Lady Anna, smiling, "what honor would have been yours if you had come earlier; now you must content yourself with young Wolczinski. Wladko!" The tall, clumsy fellow stumbled up hastily. "You will dance this quadrille with Judith." He hesitated. "I am--I have--" he stammered. "What? already engaged?" "No, but--" "What then? too tired?" Lady Anna's eyes had not the pleasantest expression in the world just then. "Well, will you? _Allons!_"