“Professor”--he turned to the old man--“I was not in office when the Princess Yves Napraxine was stolen, and am not very familiar with the circumstances; but I know it did not occur to any one at the time that she had been taken in mistake for your daughter. It was only a few months ago, when I began to look into the case, that I suspected something of the sort. Your words confirm my belief. Professor, you did not steal your own daughter. You stole the daughter of the Grand Duke Ivan, the Princess Yves Napraxine, who was the same age, and was playing with her. You brought her up as your own. And now you have brought her back to resume her rightful place in the world as heiress to a great fortune and a great name.” Professor Shishkin tottered to a chair and sank down. Not for a moment did he doubt the truth of Demidroff’s words. Again and again he had tried to find in Olga a resemblance to himself or to his dead wife, but always in vain. The girl was like neither of them--in face or in character. Often he had wondered whence she had gotten this or that trait, and now he understood. The fabric of his life fell shattered round him. What was to be done? He loved Olga, even if she were not his own daughter; for twenty years he had cared for her; he had dared nihilist vengeance rather than let her come to Russia and run the risk of being separated from him. He could not give her up now. And would she want to be given up? She was married and supposedly three thousand miles away, presumably happy and content, knowing nothing of all this. Would she care to leave it all for a new life, even if it brought her wealth and station? He doubted it. For the present, at any rate, he would tell nothing. He raised his head and looked at Demidroff. “Is this true?” he demanded. The Baron nodded. “Perfectly true!” he replied. “From all accounts, the disappearance of the princess was discovered almost immediately. It was supposed that she had been stolen by some enemy of the Grand Duke. Strenuous efforts were made to find her, but they all failed. There were no clues. No one guessed that Count Lladislas had escaped from the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul and come back to carry away his own child. Until I took the matter up, a few weeks ago, no one knew whether she was alive or dead. Now the proofs are nearly completed; it needs only your own affidavit that you stole this lady from the ducal palace, to render them irrefutable.” “But--but----” the Professor gasped--“but my own child. Where is she?” “She is safe and well. I will tell you about her in good time. First, however, comes that affidavit. Will you draw it up now?”