"Yes; the news of his treachery, and the news of his death at the hands of the Duke of Hereward reached me at the same moment in this convent, where I was then passing the first year of mourning for my parents. It was that news which decided me to take the vail and devote my life and fortune to the service of the Lord," said the lady, reverently bending her head. Salome sat staring stonily as one petrified. She was absolutely speechless and motionless from amazement for the space of a minute or more. Then suddenly recovering her powers, she exclaimed: "Mother! Mother Genevieve! For Heaven's sake! Did I understand you? From _whose_ hand did you hear Count Waldemar received his death in a duel?" "From the hand of the deeply injured husband, of course." "But--who was he? Who? You mentioned a name!" wildly exclaimed Salome. "Did I mention a name? Ah! what inadvertence! I never intended to let that name slip out. I am very sorry to have done so. _Mea Culpa! Mea Culpa! Mea maxima culpa!_" muttered the abbess, bending her head and smiting her bosom. "Mother Genevieve! Oh, do not trifle with me! _do_ not torture me! I heard a name! Did I hear aright? Oh, I hope I did not! What name did you murmur? Tell me! tell me! WHO met Count Waldemar in a duel?" demanded Salome. "I have no choice but to tell you now, though I would willingly have kept the fact from you. It _was_ the Duke of Hereward, the late duke of course, the deeply-wronged lover of that fair woman, who met, and, as I heard, killed Count Waldemar de Volaski. But there were wrongs on both sides, deep, deadly wrongs on every side!" moaned the lady, clasping her hands convulsively and lowering her eyes. "The Duke of Hereward! Heaven of heavens! the Duke of Hereward! Yes! I heard aright the first time; but I could not believe my own ears! The father of my betrothed!" murmured Salome, sinking back in her seat. The abbess gravely bent her head. "What of the frail woman? She was not--oh! no, she _could not_ have been the mother of the present duke?" "No," murmured the abbess, in a low voice. "Mother Genevieve!" exclaimed Salome, suddenly, "will you tell me all you know of this terrible story?" "My daughter, my past is dead and buried these many years; so I would leave it until the last great day of the Resurrection. Nevertheless, as the story of my life is interwoven with that of the princely line in whom you feel so deep an interest, I will relate it." "Thanks, good mother," said Salome, nestling to her side and preparing to listen. "Not here, and not now, my child, can I enter upon the long, sorrowful, shameful story--a story of pride, despotism and cruelty on one side; of passion, wilfulness and recklessness on the other; of selfishness, sin and ruin on all sides! Daughter, in almost every tale of sin and suffering you will find that there has always been sin on _one_ side and suffering on the _other_; but in this story _all_ sinned deeply, all suffered fearfully!"