"Now," he said, "I am prepared. Madame shall discover what it means to deceive her fond husband!" Hurd moved in his seat uneasily. There was something ominous in the villainous curve of the man's lips--in the utter absence of any direct threats. What was it that was passing in his mind? "You are not thinking of any violence?" he asked. "Remember she is a proud woman, and you cannot punish her more than by simply appearing and declaring yourself." Jean le Roi smiled. "We shall see," he declared. CHAPTER XIII THE KING OF THE APACHES Wilhelmina was resting--and looked in need of it. All the delicate colours and fluttering ribbons of her Doucet dressing-jacket could not hide the pallor of her cheeks, or the hollows under her eyes. Macheson, who came in sternly enough, felt himself moved to a troublous pity. Nothing seemed left of the great lady--or the "poseuse"! "You are kind," she murmured, "to come so soon. Sit down, please!" "Is there any trouble?" he asked. "You look worried." She laughed unnaturally. "No wonder," she answered. "For five years I have been living more or less on the brink of a volcano. From what I have heard, I fancy that an eruption is about due." "Tell me about it," he asked. She passed him a telegram. It was from Paris, and it was signed Gilbert Deyes. "Jean le Roi was free yesterday. Left immediately for England." Macheson looked up. He did not understand. "And who," he asked, "is Jean le Roi?" She looked him in the eyes. "My husband," she told him quietly. "At least that is what I suppose the law would say that he was." Macheson had been prepared for something surprising, but not for this. He looked at her incredulously. He found himself aimlessly repeating her words. "Your husband?" "I was married five years ago in Paris," she said in a dull, emotionless tone. "No one over here knows about it, or has seen him, because he has been in prison all the time. It was I who sent him there." "I can't believe this," he said, in a low tone. "It is too amazing." Then a light broke in upon him and he began to understand. "He is in England now," she said, "and I am afraid." "Jean le Roi?" he muttered. "King of the Apaches," she answered bitterly. "'The greatest rogue in Paris,' they said, when they sentenced him." "Sentenced him!" he repeated, bewildered. "He has been in prison since the day we were married," she continued. "It was I who sent him there." He bowed his head. He felt that it was not right to look at her. An infinite wave of tenderness swept through his whole being. He was ashamed of his past thoughts of her, of his hasty judgments. All the time she had been carrying this in her bosom. Her very pride seemed to him now magnificent. He felt suddenly like a querulous child. "What can I do to help you?" he asked softly. She came a little nearer to him.