Diana moved a little restlessly. As she did so a rosy flash glittered from a great jewel she wore round her neck,--the famous “Eye of Rajuna,” whose tragic history she had heard from Chauvet himself. “Yes,” she answered--“That is true. But--I forgot!” “You forgot?” he echoed, wonderingly. “You forgot a proposal of marriage? And yet--when you came to me first in Geneva you thought love was enough for everything,--your heart was hungry for love----” “When I had a heart--yes!” she said. “But now I have none. And I do not hunger for what does not exist! I am sorry I forgot the kind Professor. But I did,--completely! And that he should have left me all he possessed is almost a punishment!” “You should not regard it as such,” he answered. “It is hardly your fault if you forgot. Your thoughts are, perhaps, elsewhere?” He paused,--but she said nothing. “As I have told you,” he went on, “Chauvet has left you an ample fortune, together with this house and all it contains--its unique library, its pictures and curios, to say nothing of his famous collection of jewels, worth many thousands of pounds--and as everything is in perfect order you will have no trouble. Personally, I had no idea he was such a wealthy man.” She was still silent, looking at him more or less critically. He felt her eyes upon him, and some impulse stung him into sudden fervour. “You look indifferent,” he said, “and no doubt you _are_ indifferent. Your nature now admits of no emotion. But, so far as you are woman, your circumstances are little changed. You are as you were when you first became my ‘subject’--‘of mature years, and alone in the world without claims on your time or your affections.’ Is it not so?” A faint, mysterious smile lifted the corners of her lovely mouth. “It is so!” she answered. “You are alone in the world,--alone, alone, alone!” he repeated with a kind of fierce intensity. “Alone!--for I know that neither your father nor your mother recognise you. Am I right or wrong?” Still smiling, she bent her head. “Right, of course!” she murmured, with delicate irony. “How could _you_ be wrong!” “Your own familiar friend will have none of you,” he went on, with almost angry emphasis. “To the world you once knew, you are dead! The man who was your lover--the man who, as you told me, spoilt your life and on whom you seek to be revenged----” She lifted one hand with an interrupting gesture. “That is finished,” she said. “I seek vengeance no longer. No man is worth it! Besides, I _am_ avenged.” She half rose from her reclining attitude, and he waited for her next word.