Suddenly, just as I bent to more closely examine Dudley's portrait, and had distinguished that it was a copy similar to the one I had seen in Sonia's possession, the door was thrown wide-open by a tall, liveried servant, who entered, and, bowing low, announced in stentorian tones,--"Her Imperial Highness Elizaveta Nicolayevna." The rapid frou-frou of silk sounded outside, and next second my wife and I stood face to face. In an instant the colour left her cheeks. She staggered as if she had been dealt a blow, but managing to regain her self-possession, she turned quickly to the servant, and in a frigid tone said,-- "Go, Anton. And see that I am not disturbed." The man, glancing at me for a moment in unfeigned surprise, bowed, and withdrew in silence. I stood motionless, gazing upon her, noting the beauty of her costume, the brilliance of her diamonds, and the deathly pallor of her adorable face. "Geoffrey!" she gasped at last. In a half-fearful whisper she repeated my name, adding, "So you have found me!" With a quick, impetuous movement she walked unevenly towards me, with rustling skirts and outstretched hands. It seemed to me, as I looked at her, as if my soul flew towards her, spreading at first like a wave around the outline of her head, and then, attracted by the whiteness of her breast, descended into her. "Yes," I said, slowly and gravely. "I have found you, Ella." "Ah, no!" she cried, advancing so close to me that the well-remembered odour of sampaguita intoxicated me. I felt her warm, passionate breath upon my cheek. "Do not call me longer by that false name. Forget it-- forget it all, and call me by my right name--Elizaveta." "It is impossible," I answered. "No, do not say that," she cried hoarsely. "I--I know I have deceived you, Geoffrey. I lied to you. But forgive me. Tell me that you will some day forget." "Think," I said, in a low, reproachful tone, my heart filled with grief to overflowing--"think how you have wrecked my life," I urged. "You masqueraded before me as a plain English girl; you married me and allowed me to adore you--ah! better than all the world besides--until you grew tired and left our poor, matter-of-fact home to reassume your true station--that of a Grand Duchess. You never loved me; but it amused you, I suppose, to become the wife of a man who was compelled to earn his livelihood. The economy you practised while with me was a new sensation to you, and your--" "Stop!" she cried vehemently, putting up her tiny hand to my mouth, as had been her habit long ago when she wished to arrest the flow of my words. "Stop! I cannot bear it! I tell you I did love you, Geoffrey. I love you now, dearer than life." "Then why did you practise such base deception?" I demanded. "Why did you leave me and cast aside my wedding-ring?" "I--I was compelled," she faltered.