rn me without delay?

"I must read the letter," I insisted. "Give it to me at once."

Occasionally Marianne (who has been with me for many years, and is old
enough to be my mother) argues a matter on which we disagree: but
something in my voice, I suppose, made her obey me with extraordinary
promptness. Then came a shock--and not of relief. I recognised on the
envelope the handwriting of Count Godensky.

I know that I am not a coward. Yet it was only by the strongest effort
of will that I forced myself to open that letter. I was afraid--afraid
of a hundred things. But most of all, I was afraid of learning that the
treaty was in his hands. It would be like him to tell me he had it, and
try to drive some dreadful bargain.

Nerving myself, as I suppose a condemned criminal must nerve himself to
go to the guillotine or the gallows, I opened the letter. For as long as
I might have counted "one, two," slowly, the paper looked black before
my eyes, as if ink were spilt over it, blotting out the words: but the
dark smudge cleared away, and showed me--nothing, except that, if Alexis
Godensky held a trump card, I was not to have a sight of it until later,
when he chose.

"MY DEAR MAXINE," [he began his letter, though he had never been
given the right to call me Maxine, and never had dared so to
call me before] "I must see you, and talk to you this evening,
alone. This for your own sake and that of another, even more
than mine, though you know very well what it is to me to be with
you. Perhaps you may be able to guess that this is important. I
am so sure that you _will_ guess, and that you will not only be
willing but anxious to see me to-night, if you never were
before, that I shall venture to be waiting for you at the stage
door when you come out.

"Yours, in whatever way you will,

"ALEXIS."

If anything could have given me pleasure at that moment, it would have
been to tear the letter in little pieces, with the writer looking on.
Then to throw those pieces in his hateful face, and say, "That's your
answer."

But he was not looking on, and even if he had been I could not have done
what I wished. He knew that I would have to consent to see him, that he
need have no fear I would profit by my knowledge of his intentions, to
order him sent away from the stage door. I would have to see him. But
how could I manage it after refusing--as I must refuse--to let Raoul go
home wit