Salome still trembling in every limb, turned toward her companion. The abbess sat with clasped hands, lowered eyelids, and face as pale as death. Salome, too much absorbed in her own emotion to notice the strange condition of the abbess, touched her on the shoulder and eagerly whispered: "Mother, did you observe the visitors?" "Yes," breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her eyelids. "Did you notice--_the man_?" Salome continued. "I did," murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she devoutly made the sign of the cross. "Do you know who he was?" "_I do._" "He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of Hereward!" "Nay," said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. "He was not the Duke of Hereward. He was one whom I had reckoned as numbered with the dead full twenty years ago!" CHAPTER XXXI. THE ABBESS' STORY. "'Not the Duke of Hereward!'" echoed Salome, astonishment now overcoming every other emotion in her bosom. The abbess bowed her head in grave assent. "'One whom you thought numbered with the dead, full twenty years ago?'" continued Salome, quoting the lady's own words, and gazing on her face. "Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still," murmured the abbess. "This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood twenty-five years ago." "He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be; but he is not young." "And he is not the Duke of Hereward?" "Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward." "Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, _who_ is he?" demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement. "He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman," gravely replied the abbess. "Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?" exclaimed Salome, in consternation. "Yes, sure of it," answered the abbess, slowly bending her head. "But--pardon me--I thought that _he_ had been killed in a duel by the lover of the woman whom he had won." "Even so thought I. The news of his falsehood and of his death at the hands of the wronged lover, came to me in my convent retreat at the same time, and I heard no more of him from that day to this, when I have again seen him in the flesh. The saints defend us!" "And you are absolutely certain that he was Count Waldemar?" "I am absolutely certain." "Mother Genevieve, did you know the woman who was with him?" "No, not at all. I never saw or heard of her before. She seems to belong to the _demi-monde_, for she dresses like a princess, and talks like a peasant. Let us not speak of her," said the lady, coldly. "We _must_ speak of her, for I think I know who she is." "You recognize her, then?"