She, meanwhile, after he had gone, sat down to think. A long mirror facing her gave her the reflection of her own exquisite face and figure--but her expression for the moment was cold and stern, as that of some avenging goddess. She looked at her hands--the hands her traitor lover had kissed--and opening a quaint jar of perfume on the table beside her, she dashed some of its contents over their delicate whiteness. “For he has soiled them!” she said--“They are outraged by his touch!” A deep scorn gathered in her eyes like growing darkness. “Why should I trouble myself with any vengeance upon him?” she asked herself inwardly. “A mere lump of sensuality!--a man who considers no principle save that of his own pleasure, and has no tenderness or memory for me as the ‘old’ spinster whom he thought (and still thinks) was drowned in Devon!--what is he to me but an utterly contemptible atom!--and yet--the only sentiment I seem to be capable of now is hate!--undying hate, the antithesis of the once undying love I bore him! The revolt of my soul against him is like a revolt of light against darkness! Is he not punished enough by the gross and commonplace domestic life he has made for himself! No!--not enough!--not enough to hurt him!” She drew a long breath, conscious of the power which filled her body and spirit,--a power which now for the first time seemed to herself terrific. She knew there was pent up within her a lightning force which was swift to attract and equally swift to destroy. “Those old Greek stories of gods and goddesses whose unveiled glory slew the mortals who dared to doubt them were quite true prophecies,” she thought--“only they did not penetrate far enough into the myth to discover the real scientific truth of how the mortal could put on immortality. Not even now, though the fusion and transmutation of elements every day discloses more and more marvels of Nature, they have not tested the possibilities of change which science may bring about in the composition of human bodies--that is for the future to discover and determine.” At that moment Mrs. Beresford entered the room with a telegram. “For you, Diana,” she said. “It has just come.” Opening it, Diana read the message it brought. “Professor Chauvet has died suddenly. Has left you his sole heiress. Please meet me in Paris as soon as possible to settle business. Your presence necessary. Reply Hôtel Windsor.--Dimitrius.” The paper dropped from her hands. She had forgotten Professor Chauvet altogether! The crusty yet kindly old Professor who had asked her to marry him--she had actually forgotten him! And now--he was dead! She sat amazed and stricken, till the gentle voice of Mrs. Beresford roused her. “Anything wrong, my dear?” “Oh, no!--yet--yes!--perhaps a little! A friend has died suddenly--very suddenly--and he has made me his heiress.” Mrs. Beresford smiled a little. “Well, isn’t that good news?”