you have kept from him so long. You
have not the moral courage to do so. But you can leave him. It is to
arrange for your flight and for your future safety that I now demand and
_insist_ upon a private interview with you.

"Write to me at the _poste-restante_, and tell me when and where I
can see you alone. Should you refuse to grant me this interview, I will
myself go to the Duke of Hereward and tell him the whole story. He may
not resent your former marriage; but he will never forgive you, living,
or your parents in their graves, for the deception that has been
practiced upon him. I will wait twenty-four hours for your answer, and
then if I fail to receive it, or fail to get a favorable one, I shall
come immediately to the Hotel de la Motte and seek an explanation with
the duke. I shall direct this letter by the name and title you now bear,
so as to prevent mistakes; but it is the last time I shall so address
you. And I sign myself, for all eternity,

"Your true husband, WALDEMAR DE VOLASKI."

Valerie read the cruel letter to its close, then dropped it on her lap,
and sank back in her chair, helpless, breathless, almost lifeless.
Minutes crept into hours, and still she sat there in the same position,
without motion, thought, or feeling--stricken, spell-bound, entranced.

She was aroused at length by a rap at her chamber-door.

She started, shuddering, to her feet, and spasm after spasm shook her
galvanized frame, as she picked up her letter, found a match, drew it,
set fire to the paper, threw it, blazing, down upon the marble hearth,
and watched it until it was consumed to a little heap of light ashes.

"There! That can never fall into the Duke of Hereward's hands
_now_!" she said with a bitter laugh.

Meanwhile the rapping continued.

"Well! well! well! well! Can't you be patient!" she exclaimed, very
_im_patiently, as she tottered tremblingly across the room and
opened the door.

Her dressing-maid, Mademoiselle Desiree, was there.

"_Pardonnez moi, madame_; but you ordered me to come to dress you
for a drive at twelve. The clock has just struck, madame," said the girl
deprecatingly.

Valerie put her hand to her head in a bewildered way, and stared at the
speaker a full minute before she could recollect herself sufficiently to
reply.

"Yes--yes--yes--yes--I believe so. You can come in."

The girl entered and stood waiting for orders. Receiving none, she
ventured to inquire:

"What dress shall madam