"I feared that my family would not allow me to do so," she answered frankly. "Yet you proposed marriage; we became man and wife, and the first weeks of our new life were full of joy and happiness. Soon, however, the Nemesis that I dreaded fell upon me, crushing all desire for life from my heart. I was compelled to fly and leave you in ignorance." "And you forgot that in your escritoire there remained the stolen agreement?" I said slowly, looking straight into her pale face. "Yes, I admit it," she replied, in a voice almost inaudible, her dry lips moving convulsively. "So full was my mind of thoughts of you that I did not remember it until too late to return and secure it." "The woman who passed as Mrs Laing was not, of course, your mother?" "She was no relation whatever. I paid her to pose as my maternal relative and keep house for me." "Where is she now?" "I have no idea," my wife answered. "She was a curious woman, and, strangely enough, she left London suddenly, on the very morning of the day of my departure." "And what of Beck?" I asked. "Did he know who you really were?" "Scarcely," she exclaimed. "Do you think he could have kept to himself the knowledge that I was a relative of the Tzar. Why, such a man would have related the fact that he knew me, and dined at our house, to every member of his club within twenty-four hours. You know, as well as I do, how he simply adores anybody with a title. It is the same with all the newly-wealthy crowd who are struggling to get into society." It was upon my tongue to explain to her the truth regarding the man-servant who passed as Helmholtz; nevertheless, I hesitated to do so at present because of my promise to Paul Verblioudovitch. The silence between us was protracted. She had covered her tear-stained face with her hands, and was sobbing. Nevertheless, I was not moved with pity. Her determination to preserve her secret filled me with annoyance. I had expected her to make confession, but I plainly saw she had no intention of revealing the truth. "Why did you associate with a woman of such doubtful reputation as Sonia Korolenko?" I asked abruptly at last. "Because I wished to ascertain something," she replied, in a harsh voice. "She is scarcely your friend," I observed. "She is," she declared. "I have known her for several years." "And you were actually aware of her true character while associating with her!" I exclaimed, rather surprised. "Of course," she sighed. "She is an adventuress, I know; nevertheless, she has proved my friend on many occasions." "That's curious," I remarked. "Why?" "Because she made certain allegations against you," I answered. "Yes," she said, without betraying either anger or surprise. "I am fully aware of that. Strange though it may appear, her statements were made with a definite object." "Why did she utter such unfounded calumnies?"