It was at first the deep mourning of Lady Beltham whose husband had been mysteriously done to death at Belleville. Then, some weeks later, occurred the awful scene of the arrest of Lord Beltham's murderer, just as he was leaving the house, an arrest due to Juve, who, though he succeeded in laying hands on the assassin, the infamous Gurn, was not able to prove--sure though he might be of it--that the slayer of the husband was the lover of the wife. After these shocking events Lady Beltham left France, dismissing the many attendants with whom she loved to surround herself like a true queen of beauty, luxury and wealth. At rare intervals the Lady, whose existence grew more and more mysterious, went back for a few days to her house at Neuilly. She would vanish, would reappear, living like a recluse, almost in entire solitude, receiving none of her old acquaintances. About a year ago she seemed to want to settle finally at Boulevard Inkermann. Workmen began to put the house in order again, the lodge was opened and a family of caretakers came; then suddenly the work had been broken off; some weeks went by while Lady Beltham lived alone with her companion; then both disappeared. Lady Beltham shivered, and, gathering about her shoulders the cloak which covered her religious habit, muttered: "I'm cold." "Beastly weather, and to think this is July." Chaleck crossed to a register in the corner of the room. "No good to leave that open! An icy wind comes through the passage to the cellar." Lady Beltham turned in alarm toward her enigmatic companion. "Why did you let it be supposed I was dead?" "Why did you yourself leave here two days before the crime at the Cité Frochot?" Lady Beltham hung her head and with a sob in her voice: "I was deserted and jealous. Besides, I was enduring frightful remorse. The idea had come to me to write down the terrible secret which haunted my spirit, to give the story to some one I could trust, an attorney, and then----" "Go on, pray!" "And, then, what I had written suddenly vanished. It was after that I lost my head and fled. I had long been meaning to withdraw from the world. The Sisters of St. Clotilde offered to receive me in their house at Nogent." Chaleck added brutally: "That isn't all. You forgot to say you were afraid. Come, be frank, afraid of Gurn, of me!" "Well, yes, I was afraid, not so much of you, but of our crimes. I am also afraid of dying." "That confession you wrote became known to some one who confided it to me." "Heavens," murmured the unhappy woman. "Who mentioned it?" Chaleck had again crossed to the register, which, although closed by him some moments before, was open again, letting into the room a blast of icy air from the basement. "This can't stay shut, it must be seen to," he muttered. Lady Beltham, shaken by a nervous tremour, insisted: "Who betrayed me? Who told?" Chaleck seated himself by her side.