"Curious," mused Judith. "How did the man find his way here? Even Agenor's letters reach me through the bankers, and what did he want?" An hour later, during dinner, Jan announced, "The old fellow is still in the servants' hall. Things are not quite in order." "How?" "When Hamia took him his dinner, he started. I saw quite plainly how he shuddered and trembled. But she says she does not know him. Then, again, the old man is guzzling more than three young men would. I have warned him that this Veltliner is the devil himself. But he keeps pouring it down, groaning he does not know what to do." "Give him two francs and send him out of the house," ordered Judith. Shortly after she was in her sitting-room, writing to Agenor describing this visit, when Hamia came running in, pale as death, and trembling all over. "Most gracious countess," she stammered, in great excitement, "the monk is a swindler. He is Tondka, the scoundrel; I know him." "What do you mean?" "Ignatius Tondka, who was clerk to the lawyer with whom I was in service at Czernowitz. He courted me then and wanted to marry me, but luckily I found out that he was a swindler and that the police were after him. He used to dress himself like a priest and cheat the people." "But the monk is an old man!" "He has a false beard. For it came off in Jan's hands when he took hold of it. When Jan told him to go, he kept asking for more wine, yelling, 'I can demand what I wish in this house.' He raised his fist to strike Jan, but he was so drunk he fell down and Jan on top of him. When I heard the noise I rushed in, and saw Jan getting up with the beard in his hands, but the monk lay still. 'Who is that?' I cried, and then I recognized the scamp. 'So it's you! I will spoil your game of playing priest. I'll fetch the police on the spot.' No sooner had I said that than he grew almost sober with fright. He got up and said, 'You are mistaken. I do not know you.' 'What,' I cried, 'I do not know my old lover! You just wait, you villain.' Then he whispered, 'Be quiet, as you love your life!' 'Rubbish,' said I, 'I won't spare a cheat and scoundrel like you. Jan, pitch him out!' But Jan must have seen him before, too, for he stared at him and turned quite pale. 'Where have I seen that face?' he kept saying. 'You have never seen me,' said Tondka. 'Yes, I have,' said Jan, 'in Borky.' But you are pale also, gracious countess." Judith's face had indeed grown ashen. Every drop of blood seemed to have oozed from it. She sank back into her arm-chair and murmured, "Go on, go on." "There is nothing more to tell, and why are you so frightened? Ought I not to have told you? I thought I ought, as Jan is like that old woman in the Bible who turned to stone. He stands there saying, 'In Borky! in Borky,' and Tondka answers, 'No, no!' But, _mon Dieu_, you are fainting."