"But, darling," she falters, as her arms cling closer, "we must wait and hope!" A letter from Philip Hardin arrives, in the gayest midwinter of a rejuvenated Paris. The time for decisive action has arrived. Natalie revolves every clause of Hardin's proposition in her mind. In less than a year the now blooming Isabel will be eighteen years of age. The accounting-- Hardin is trying now to cut the legal Gordian knot. His letter reads as follows: I have determined to make you a proposition which should close all our affairs. It should leave no cause for complaint. I need Isabel Valois here, You will not trust yourself in America with our past relations unsettled. I shall not force you, but I must do my duty as guardian. You are worthy of a settlement. No one knows you here now. Marry Villa Rocca. Come here with Isabel. I will give you jointly a fortune which will content you. I will settle upon your child the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, to be paid over to her use when of age. If you marry Villa Rocca now, I will give him the drafts for the child's money. If you decide to marry him, you may ask him to visit me here, as your agent. I will show him where your own property is located, to the extent of half a million dollars. This is to be turned over to you and him jointly, when you are man and wife. This will satisfy his honor and his rank. Otherwise, I shall soon cease my remittances. You may not be willing to do as I wish, but the heiress must be returned to me, or you and your child will remain without means. Your marriage will be my safeguard and your own establishment. Tell Villa Rocca any story of your life; I will confirm and prove it. I shall name my bankers as trustee to join with any person you name for your child. The principal to be paid over to her on her marriage, to her own order. She can take any name you choose, except mine. If this is satisfactory, cable to me, "Accepted; agent coming." Send a letter by your agent, with a private duplicate to me, with your wishes. HARDIN. Natalie stands face to face with a life's decision. Can she trust Villa Rocca? By the dark bond of crime between them she must. A poor bond of crime. And the millions of Lagunitas. To yield them up. A terrible temptation. In her boudoir, Villa Rocca sums up with lightning flashes, the merits of this proposition. It is partly unfolded to him by the woman, who holds his pledge to marry her. "She must settle her affairs." It is a good excuse. He smiles, as he says: "Madonna mia, in whose name will this property be placed, if I make you Countess Villa Rocca?" "In our joint names, with benefit to the survivor," she replies.