In spite of his better sense, a sharp spasm of disappointment seized the heart of Paul Desfrayne. He was, perhaps, worse placed than before. Until now, he had given Lucia Guiscardini credit for being what she really represented herself to be, and had imagined that balked ambition rather than absolute wickedness had led to her vile deception and iniquitous treachery toward himself. She had seemed a wild, undisciplined creature, ignorant of the world and its ways, cold and reserved except on a few occasions when she had permitted him to snatch feverish kisses from her lips, and press her in his arms. But now, if Gilardoni’s accusations were true, she was a crafty, evil, unscrupulous woman, who had crushed an innocent man with the hope to step up into wealth and power. She was the wife of this servant, yet at any moment, did she so will, she could claim to stand by the side of Captain Paul Desfrayne, whose legal wife she was, until proof of a prior marriage could be obtained. Wife of Paul Desfrayne, so proud of his untarnished family name and descent, so adoringly fond of his mother, whose besetting sin was family pride and love of the world’s homage. “Destroyed the evidence of her first marriage!” Paul Desfrayne slowly repeated. “I cannot understand you.” “Sir, I will tell you the pitiful history. ’Tis not very long. As children, Lucia and I were playmates. She was an imperious, overbearing tyrant; but her beauty, her wiles, her artless ways, as they appeared to be, gained for her complete dominion over my every thought and action. I was some six or seven years her senior, and useful to her--her slave, her jackall. “She was an orphan, and lived with an old woman, some distant kind of relation. I lost my parents when about eighteen or so, and was left my own master. When Lucia was some ten or eleven years old, I resolved that she, and none other, should be my wife at some future day. I told her so many, many times, and she generally agreed, laughingly. When she was sixteen, I found that I passionately loved her. Our future marriage had been a kind of jest until then; but at last I discovered--or fancied such to be the case--I took it into my head that I must obtain her love, and make her my wife, or else my heart must break. “I can scarcely conceive the wild state of my feelings _now_ when I look back. I made a serious declaration of my love the day I gave her this cross; I urged her to give me her promise, telling her how madly I adored her, how rich I hoped to be some day by working hard, and getting and saving money. She knew exactly how much I was worth. She knew she would have her own way in everything--she knew how every thought in my brain, every pulsation of my heart, was given to her. “I was the best-circumstanced of those she had to choose from, and I think--I believe--some beam of liking for me flickered in her cold breast; but I don’t know. She decided to give me her promise.”