er, and as he replaced it in his pocket, Millar said
quietly:

"You see, Karl, a man may kill a man for a lost sovereign."

Karl's paroxysm of rage and pain over, he threw himself into a chair and
buried his face in his hands. He did not even look up as Millar, his
cynical glance fixed on him, walked out, closing the door softly behind
him. His departure seemed to clear the atmosphere of its oppressive
burden of evil, however, and Karl jumped to his feet. He made a few
turns up and down the studio and then changed his velvet studio jacket
for a greatcoat and plunged out of doors into the storm.

CHAPTER VII

A brisk walk through the snow and gathering darkness revived him and he
turned back to the studio with a clearer brain. His old servant,
Heinrich, met him at the door.

"Monsieur, the gentleman has returned and is dressing," the old man
said, in an awe-struck whisper. "I think he is the devil," he added
vindictively.

Heinrich had been terrified when Millar, returning to the studio in
Karl's absence, had taken possession, with the utmost coolness, of
Karl's guest-chamber and proceeded to change to the evening clothes
which had been sent to him there from the tailor's. Unwilling to meet
the man again, Karl hurried into his own room and locked the door. He
did not emerge again until long after Millar had completed his dressing
and had left the studio.

Karl tried desperately to drive thoughts of Olga from his mind; but the
terrible flame of passion which had grown from the tiny, buried spark of
boy love that lurked in his heart, under the sinister suggestion of
Millar, tortured him. He could hardly keep himself from rushing off to
Olga's house, in advance of the ball, to beg her not to proceed with her
design of bringing him and Elsa together; to tell her that he loved her
and that in all the world there lived no other woman for him.
Desperately, at last, he remembered his promise to see Mimi, and he
hurried out and made his way afoot to the tattered little buildings in
which she lived, hoping there to find forgetfulness. But, go where he
would, the haunting black eyes, the cynical smile, that even, persistent
voice, the insidious suggestions of Millar, the devil, followed him and
would not be shaken off.

* * * * *

In a state of mind even more desperate than that of Karl, Olga went home
with Herman. Their journey was as silent as their carriage was silent.
Herman wa