The man, sick unto death, was a prey to wild delirium, but even through madness there runs one connecting thread, on which it hangs its pictures, and is often more sharp-sighted, more rational than sound sense. A pause ensued. The Cossack, who was weary, began to whistle a song which is sung on the shores of the Don by the girls of his race. Baluzzi had somewhat recovered. "You still doubt? Pray call in the officer of the frontier." Under the impression that the Italian felt weak, and needed some surgical assistance, Blanden hastened down the stairs and returned with the chief guardian of the frontier. The latter felt Baluzzi's pulse, and shook his head. "One favour! Show this gentleman what you found sewn up in my coat." Annoyed, but unwilling to refuse a dying man's entreaty, the officer, with an enquiring glance at Blanden, went into his office, and returned, bringing another Cossack with him as watchman. Out of a rough wooden box close at hand at the time, he took a sparkling diamond coronet. Even the Cossacks drew nearer with covetous glances. Only one stone was wanting in the ornament. Blanden started back as if stung by an adder. "My, her diamonds! Our family jewels! Robber! "I a robber? Did she wear these diamonds on her wedding day? Did she complain that she had lost them? It is a gift that she gave to me--one of the many with which she bought my silence. I came to her on the evening before her wedding. Kätchen showed me the road through the tower and the subterranean passage, and cleared the way--poor child, it was there, too, that she died the following day in the fireworks, which she let off in honour of the bridal couple. These diamonds are my honestly gained property." Now Blanden said no more. Groping about blindly he sought an explanation, but all excuses were denied to him. Desperate, he buried his face in his hands, and stamped as if in an impotent rage with his fate. "He is dying," said the official, pointing at Baluzzi, whose features suddenly became overshadowed. But he raised himself once more with a powerful effort, and cried in a shrieking half-failing voice-- "Thrust her from you, the adulteress. Where am I? The brand upon her brow, the chains of the galley rattle about me--" "And if it were so," cried Blanden, "the proofs are wanting. The secret goes with you to the grave. I alone have the right to punish her." "You are wrong," said Baluzzi, gathering up his strength once more. "Revenge I have vowed to her, I keep my oath, the proofs are not here, not at hand, but they are in safe keeping. The accusation I carried for long, carefully sealed up in my breast pocket. Beate burned the page in the registry in San Giulio, but a legal copy at the See in Milan proves the marriage. And this accusation is my legacy, the lightning that strikes the worthless woman, even before I die." "This accusation--" cried Blanden, almost breathlessly.