"Help us, and you shall find that it was a promise," half guessing what the promise was. Then, pushing her advantage, she continued: "And, after all, you know, my dear Adelaide, is it not a little inconsistent for you to talk of treason or betrayal. Do you really think that you would now be a guest in Lord Orrel's house any more than I should if he knew of your connection with a certain ex-captain of Uhlans, or of that visit you paid with him to General Ducros? Really, you will forgive me if I say that your suggestion as to warning the viscount about my little scheme is a trifle illogical, even if you wished to betray us, which I don't suppose you would seriously dream of. How could you do it without betraying yourself? You would have to accuse me and papa, and, through us, Russia, of an act of contemplated piracy. We should be compelled, in self-defence, to prove that you know just as much of the true nature of the Storage Works as we do, and that you and your ex-captain are the real authors of the French expedition--in short, that you are every whit as bitter an enemy of the Trust, and all concerned in it, as we are. I fully admit that you will spoil our scheme for the time being; but, instead of being a guest of the _Nadine_, the guest of the man you love, with the power in your hand of abolishing the woman who will certainly marry him, if you don't, you would suffer the indignity of being ordered out of his house as a spy and a traitress." The logic was as exact as it was pitiless, and Adelaide de Condé saw that Sophie Valdemar was, for the time being at least, mistress of the situation. She had come to Orrel Court as a guest, with the full intention of playing a double part. She had played it until one day she had chanced to overhear a few half-tender, half-chaffing words pass between Chrysie Vandel and Hardress. Then she had awakened to the full certainty of what, in her inmost soul, she had long suspected--that she loved this man with all the strength of a strong and imperious nature; and since then she had been living in constant dread that he should by some means come to know her as she was. Now the crisis had come. Sophie Valdemar had woven toils round her from which there was no escape; she must play the double part she had chosen to the end. It was the only possible chance of gratifying at once her love and her hate, and of perhaps attaining the object of her ambitions after all. She moved slowly once or twice across the room, with her hands clasped behind her back. Sophie waited and watched her with a half-smile on her lips and a gleam of triumph in her eyes. She knew that she had won, for she could read every thought that was passing in Adelaide de Condé's soul. Then Adelaide stopped in the middle of the room and faced her, with her head slightly thrown back, and said slowly: