"I do," said Leah, resolutely. "In that case I regret that Mademoiselle struck the wrong person." "You know that she struck me?" "I was informed of it this morning, and express my regret that she acted so foolishly. Did the blow hurt you?" "It was most painful. I feel it still." "Your lip is cut, then?" "Both lips--inside, luckily, so there will be no visible scars. But even now a very little would make them bleed." Such was the profound egotism of her nature that she expected further sympathy from the man she had reduced to such a condition. But the doctor's stock of polite phrases appeared to be exhausted. In place of a compliment came a hoarse chuckle, like the cry of an early starling. "You appear to approve," said Leah, ironically. "Pardon; I mentioned before that Mademoiselle, in my humble opinion, was wrong." "She was very wrong. I am not accustomed to deal with wild beasts." "Spare me, madame; I owe her so much." "I owe her nothing except revenge for striking me. But I excuse that because she is ignorant of the truth." "I am also ignorant, madame." "You shall hear it now--yes, the absolute truth." Again came the raucous sound, which might have been a laugh or a groan--Leah could not tell which. "The truth," murmured the sick man; adding, after a significant pause, "I am waiting, madame." "I went to Paris with Miss Tallentire," explained the Duchess, beginning anywhere in her hurry, "and Mr. Askew followed." "Followed you?" "Certainly not. I always detested the boy--so conceited. He admired Miss Tallentire, and his liking for me was the passing fancy of a shallow nature. To arouse your jealousy, M. Aksakoff put it about that Mr. Askew intended to marry me in Paris. The gossip--and it was merely gossip--came to Mrs. Penworthy's ears. That woman hated me then, and hates me now. To make mischief she told you. You came over to Paris. There, you remember what took place." "Not at our final meeting. My last memory of your face is seeing it across the tea-table." "You had a fit of some kind, and M. Aksakoff called up a Dr. Helfmann, who took you away in a cab to be cured. Then I received a letter from you, stating that you were going to Russia. As I fancied you might have settled with M. Aksakoff about your pardon, of course I quite believed it, and--and--I think that is all." "Did you not know that the letter was forged?" "No!" "That the so-called Dr. Helfmann was a spy?" "No!" "That the coffee--or rather, that the tea was drugged?" "No. How could I possibly know that M. Aksakoff was using me as his tool? If the tea--it _was_ tea--well, if he put anything into the tea, I did not see him do it. It was M. Aksakoff who gave you into Dr. Helfmann's charge, when you were insensible. Now, am I to blame?" "Your explanation is eminently satisfactory, madame." "And you believe me?" "It would be impolite to doubt a lady."