"Sophia," he said, "if my words are not true, I will pass out of your life for ever. I challenge you. If you open that box you will know that your husband is indeed the greatest scoundrel in Europe." She drew a key from a gold chain around her neck. "There are two locks," she told him. "The other is a combination, but I know the word. Who's that?" She started suddenly. There was a loud tapping at the door. Bernadine threw an antimacassar half over the box, but he was too late. De Grost and Hagon had crossed the threshold. The woman stood like some dumb creature. Hagon, transfixed, stood with his eyes riveted upon Bernadine. His face was distorted with passion; he seemed like a man beside himself with fury. De Grost came slowly forward into the middle of the room. "Count von Hern," he said, "I think that you had better leave." The woman found words. "Not yet!" she cried. "Not yet! Paul, listen to me. This man has told me a terrible thing." The breath seemed to come through Hagon's teeth like a hiss. "He has told you!" "Listen to me!" she continued. "It is the truth which you must tell now. He says that you--you are Father Paul!" Hagon did not hesitate. "It is true," he admitted. Then there was a silence--short, but tragical. Hagon seemed suddenly to have collapsed. He was like a man who has just had a stroke. He stood muttering to himself. "It is the end--this--the end!" he said, in a low tone. "It was for your sake, Sophia! I came to you poor, and you would have nothing to say to me. My love for you burned in my veins like fever. It was for you I did it--for your sake I sold my honour, the love of my country, the freedom of my brothers. For your sake I risked an awful death. For your sake I have lived like a hunted man, with the cry of the wolves always in my ears, and the fear of death and of eternal torture with me day by day. Have pity on me!" She was unmoved; her face had lost all expression. No one noticed in that rapt moment that Bernadine had crept from the room. "It was you," she cried, "who killed my father and sent my brothers into exile!" "God help me!" he moaned. She turned to de Grost. "Take him away with you, please," she said. "I have finished with him!" "Sophia!" he pleaded. She leaned across the table and struck him heavily upon the cheek. "If you stay here," she muttered, "I shall kill you myself!" * * * * * That night the body of an unknown foreigner was found in the attic of a cheap lodging-house in Soho. The discovery itself and the verdict at the inquest occupied only a few lines in the morning newspapers. Those few lines were the epitaph of one who was very nearly a Rienzi. The greater part of his papers de Grost mercifully destroyed, but one in particular he preserved. Within a week the much-delayed treaty was signed at Paris, London and St. Petersburg. CHAPTER IV THE FIRST SHOT