He rang for a servant and ordered the note to be sent by hand, and then went out to Hickney Heath to see to the burying of his dead. On his return he found a familiar envelope with the crown on the flap awaiting him. It contained but few words: PAUL, come and see me. I will stay at home all day. SOPHIE. His pulses throbbed. Her readiness to await his pleasure proved a humility of spirit rare in Princess Sophie Zobraska. Her hands were held out towards him. But he hardened his heart. The fairy-tale was over. Nothing but realities lay before him. The interview was perilous; but he was not one to shirk danger. He went out, took a cab and drove to Berkeley Square. She rose shyly as he entered and advanced to meet him. He kissed her hand, but when he sought to release it he found his held in her warm clasp. "Mon Dieu! How ill you are looking!" she said, and her lips quivered. "I'm only tired." "You look so old. Ah!" She moved away from him with a sigh. "Sit down. I suppose you can guess why I've asked you to come," she continued after a pause. "But it is a little hard to say. I want you to forgive me." "There is nothing to forgive," said Paul. "Don't be ungenerous; you know there is. I left you to bear everything alone." "You were more than justified. You found me an impostor. You were wounded in everything you held sacred. I wounded you deliberately. You could do nothing else but go away. Heaven forbid that I should have thought of blaming you. I didn't. I understood." "But it was I who did not understand," she said, looking at the rings on her fingers. "Yes. You are right. I was wounded--like an animal, I hid myself in the country, and I hoped you would write, which was foolish, for I knew you wouldn't. Then I felt that if I had loved you as I ought, I should never have gone away." "I thought it best to kill your love outright," said Paul. She lay back on her cushions, very fair, very alluring, very sad. From where he sat he saw her face in its delicate profile, and he had a mighty temptation to throw himself on his knees by her side. "I thought, too, you had killed it," she said. "Still think so," said Paul, in a low voice. She raised herself, bent forward, and he met the blue depths of her gaze. "And you? Your love?" "I never did anything to kill it." "But I did." "No, you couldn't. I shall love you to the hour of my death." He saw the light leap into her eyes. "I only say it," he added somewhat coldly, "because I will lie to you no longer. But it's a matter that concerns me alone." "How you alone? Am not I to be considered?" He rose and stood on the hearthrug, facing her. "I consider you all the time," said he. "Listen, mon cher ami," she said, looking up at him. "Let us understand one another. Is there anything about you, your birth or your life that I still don't know--I mean, anything essential?" "Nothing that matters," said Paul.