"Ah! Geoffrey. At last!" she cried, with flushed cheeks, a smile of glad welcome lighting up her pale countenance as she rushed towards me with both hands outstretched. A second later, noticing Sonia, she suddenly halted. Instantly a change passed over her face. She was unlike the gay, light-hearted girl who loved to idle up the quiet Thames backwaters, or punt along the banks at sundown. She was different from the happy, trustful bride who had wandered with me during those autumn days in quaint old Chateauroux. She had none of the flush of joyous youth, and the harder lines of resolve and determination were softened by an expression for which there is no better word than consecration. There were signs of endurance in her face, but it was the endurance of the martyr, not of the champion. Facing Sonia, she drew herself up haughtily, and demanded in French in a harsh, angry voice,-- "To what, pray, do I owe this intrusion? I should have thought that after what has passed you would not dare to come here. But I suppose cool audacity is a characteristic which must be cultivated by a woman of your character." Sonia rose slowly from her chair, her features haggard and blanched, her head bent slightly, as if in penitence. No effort did she make to resent the bitter, angry words my wife had uttered, but in a low tone simply replied,-- "I have come here with Geoffrey, to tell you the truth." "The truth!" echoed the Grand Duchess, with withering contempt. "The truth from such as you! Who would believe it?" "Wait! Hear me before you denounce me," Sonia urged, in a strange, hollow voice, that sounded like one speaking in the far distance. "I do not deny that my presence may seem unwarrantable. I admit that between us there can no longer be friendship, yet strange it is that, although you are honest, upright and respected, while I am a social outcast, spurned and degraded by all, there nevertheless exists a common bond between us--the bond of love. You love Geoffrey, the man who by law is your husband; while I love another, a man you also know;" and her voice faltered, "the man to whom you denounced me as base and worthless." "Well?" asked Ella, standing stern, upright, full of calm, unruffled dignity. She still wore the cool-looking summer gown in which she had been driving in the Bois, and had not removed her large black hat with its long ostrich plumes.