Paul Desfrayne’s eyes had not deceived him. He had really and truly seen Lucia Guiscardini hurrying away from the scene of her murderous treachery. A woman of insatiable ambition, she had resolved to let nothing stand in the way of her advancement to the highest dignities she could hope to reach. Ignorant, ungovernable in her temper, resentful when any one crossed her path, or tried to hinder her from following her own fancies, she was at once resolute in planning schemes, and unscrupulous in carrying them out. During her brief flight to Paris, on escaping what she felt would be a useless interview with Captain Desfrayne, she had reflected with all the force of her cunning brain as to the course she should take. It was true that a Russian prince, reputed to be of fabulous wealth, was devoted to her, and had offered his heart, hand, royal coronet, and vast possessions. His diamonds alone would have been a lure to her; and neither by day nor by night could she resist the glittering, delicious dreams conjured up by his offers. She had not destroyed the marriage-register stolen from the charge of her brother--not because she was withheld from the deed by any conscientious scruple, but she did not know what the punishment for so black a crime might be were she ever discovered. Until she accidentally saw Leonardo Gilardoni speaking to Captain Desfrayne, she had not for some time been aware whether he was living or dead. A sudden terror seized her when she found that these two men had come together. It would have been a welcome relief if she could have been sure they would release her from her bondage; but she knew that both had every reason to hate her with the bitterness of men who had been utterly ruined by her cruel hand, and she felt persuaded that they were bent on dragging her to justice. She kept the book she so keenly abhorred hidden in a cabinet with a peculiar lock and several secret drawers, and, in fear lest Leonardo should be the means of a search being made among the papers, she thought and thought until her head ached from sheer pain and weariness of the desirability of burning the telltale pages. But the vague dread of the unknown penalty withheld her, even when she once took out the parchment-covered volume, and stood contemplating it. She had but to ignite a taper close at hand, and the deed would be accomplished in a few minutes. “But I dare not,” she shudderingly decided. “No; I must pursue another plan.” With infinite caution and craftiness, she ascertained whither Paul Desfrayne had gone, and found for certain that he had taken Gilardoni with him. Determined to see her husband, but afraid to send for him, or to leave any trace that they had met, she had dressed herself in plain dark clothes, of a very different description from those she usually wore, and had gone down to Holston.