y. There are many things I have to
talk about. What was that?" he added quickly. "Is there any one else
in this room?"

I shook my head. "No one; it was fancy. Tell me, who was Madame de
Merteuill?"

"My mother!"

"Your mother?"

"Yes; and the old Count of Cruta is my grandfather. Madame de
Merteuill is his daughter. But that is not her real name!"

There was a high screen just behind his chair,--a japanned one, which
seemed to have been badly used, for there was a great hole in it.
While we had been talking a strange thing had happened. A man's hand
had slowly been thrust through, and a crumpled piece of paper was
dropped upon the carpet. I moved to his side, and raised the cushion
in his chair. Before I could help it he had caught my face, and
pressed a hot, burning kiss upon my cheek. I dared not struggle. I
had to yield, and endure for a moment his passionate embrace. Then I
dropped my handkerchief upon the piece of paper, and picked up both
hastily.

"Will you tell me something else, please?"

"Anything you ask! You know that I will!"

"The De Vaux estates----"

"Are mine. I am the son of Martin de Vaux. Paul de Vaux has no claim
at all. If I had remained in the Church, it was my intention to found
a great monastery here. But now----"

"Well?"

"Everything is yours!"

There was a moment's silence. I drew the piece of paper from my
pocket, as though by accident, and read it to myself. There were only
a few hastily scrawled lines:--

"I dare not do it. I am afraid. I will put the knife on the floor."

I glanced towards the hole. The hand was there, holding a long,
gleaming dagger. It laid it noiselessly upon the carpet, and was
withdrawn. I went over to his side, and knelt down there.

"And what will become of Paul de Vaux?" I asked.

He laughed grimly. "He must take his chance. He knows the whole story.
He has known since last night. Adrea, tell me once more," he pleaded:
"you never loved him really,--say that you never did!"

"Are you jealous, sir?" I asked lightly. My left hand was wandering
down his side! Ah! there was his heart! How it was beating! My right
hand was on the floor, cautiously feeling its way towards the screen.
It reached the dagger! I clutched it by the hilt! Now was the time.
There was his heart. I knew the exact spot.

"Adrea, are you ill?" he asked. "How white and strange you look! Ah!"

* * * * *

It was done! Lucrezia Borgia could no