When Verisschenzko reached Paris and discovered the desecration of the Ikon, an icy rage came over him. He knew, even before questioning his old servant, that it could only be the work of Harietta. Jealousy alone would be the cause of such a wanton act. It revealed to him the certainty of his theory that she had imagined the little Benedict to be his child. No further proof that the postcard was a forgery was really needed, but he would see her once more and obtain extra confirmation. His yellow-green eyes gleamed in a curious way as he stood looking at the mutilated picture. That her ridiculous and accursed hatpin should have dared to touch the eyes of his soul's lady, and scratch out the face of the child! But he must not let this emotion of personal anger affect what he intended in any case to do from motives of justice. In the morning he would give all his proofs of her guilt to the French authorities, and let the law take its course--but to-night he would make her come there to his apartment and hear from him an indictment of her crimes. He sat down in the comfortable chair in his own sitting room and began to think. His face was ominous; all the fierce passions of his nation and of his nature held him for a while. His dog, an intelligent terrier whom he loved, sat there before the fire and watched him, wagging his stump of a tail now and then nervously, but not daring to approach. Then, after half an hour had gone by, he rose and went to the telephone. He called up the Universal and asked to be put through to the apartment of Madame Boleski, and soon heard Harietta's voice. It was a little anxious--and yet insolent too. "Yes? Is that you Stepan! Darling Brute! What do you want?" "You--cannot you come and dine with me to-night--alone?" His voice was honey sweet, with a spontaneous, frank ring in it, only his face still looked as a fiend's. "You have just arrived? How divine!" "This instant, so I rushed at once to the telephone. I long for you--come--now." He allowed passion to quiver in the last notes--he must be sure that she would be drawn. "He cannot have opened the doors of the Ikon," Harietta thought. "I will go--to see him again will be worth it anyway!" "All right!--in half an hour!" "_Soit_,"--and he put the receiver down. Then he went again to the Ikon and examined the doors; by slamming them very hard and readjusting one small golden nail, he could give the fastening the appearance of its having been jammed and impossible to open. He ordered a wonderful dinner and some Chateau Ykem of 1900. Harietta, he remembered, liked it better than Champagne. Its sweetness and its strength appealed to her taste. The room was warm and delightful with its blazing wood fire. He looked round before he went to dress, and then he laughed softly, and again Fin nervously wagged his stump of a tail.