"Madame," I returned, completely at a loss, "in truth I know not what to say. It may be that I have seen the original. Indeed, I must think that is the case----" "Ah!" she cried, interrupting me as one who convicts an opponent after much debate, and then, in a hurried correction: "so at least I was informed." "Then tell me who informed you!" I said earnestly, for I commenced to consider this miniature as the cause of her recent resentment and scorn. "For I have only seen this face--somewhere--for a moment. Of one thing I am sure. I have never had speech with it." "Never?" she asked, in the same ironical tone. "Look yet a third time, Mr. Buckler! For your memory improves with each inspection." She suddenly broke off, and "Otto!" she cried sternly--it was almost a shout. The fellow was standing just behind my shoulder, and I swung round and eyed him. He came a step forward, questioning his mistress with a look. "Replace the tray in the cabinet!" I kept the miniature in my hand, glancing ever from it to the Countess and back again in pure wonder and conjecture. "Madame," I said firmly, "I have never had speech with the lady of this picture." She looked into my eyes as though she would read my soul. "It is God's truth!" She signed a dismissal to Otto. Clemence Durette rose and followed the servant, and I thought that I had never fallen in with any one who showed such tact and discretion in the matter of leaving a room. The Countess remained stock-still, facing me. "And yet I have been told," she said, nodding her head with each word, "that she was very dear to you." "Then," I replied hotly, "you were told a lie, a miserable calumny. I understand! 'Tis that that has poisoned your kind thoughts of me." She turned away with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "Oh, believe that!" I exclaimed, falling upon a knee and holding her by the hem of her dress. "You must believe it! I have told you what my life has been. Look at the picture yourself!" and I forced it into her hands. "What do you read there? Vanity and the love of conquest. Gaze into the eyes! What do they bespeak? Boldness that comes from the habit of conquest. Is it likely that such a woman would busy her head about an awkward, retiring student?" "I am not so sure," she replied thoughtfully, though she seemed to relent a little at my vehemence; "women are capricious. You yourself have been complaining this morning of their caprice. And it might be that--I can imagine it--and for that very reason." "Oh, compare us!" I cried. "Compare the painted figure there with me! You must see it is impossible." She laid a hand upon each of my shoulders as I knelt, and bent over me, staring into my eyes. "I have been told," said she, "that the lady was so dear to you that for her sake you fought and killed your rival in love." "You have been told that?" I answered, in sheer incredulity; and then a flame of rage against my traducer kindling in my heart, I sprang to my feet.