Under his gloating gaze her flesh crawled.  Only by supreme effort did she succeed in resisting a mad impulse to risk a rush for door or windows, and whipped her will into maintaining what seemed to be frank response.

“Very well,” she said; “I agree.”

Again he offered to touch her, again she moved slightly, eluding him.

“No,” she stipulated with an arch glance—­“not yet!  First prove you mean to make good your word.”

“How?”

“Let me go—­with my letters—­and call on me to-morrow.”

His look clouded.  “Can I trust you?” He was putting the question to himself more than to her.  “Dare I?” He added in a tone colourless and flat:  “I’ve half a mind to take you at your word.  Only—­forgive my doubts—­appearances are against you—­you seem almost too keen for the bargain.  How can I know—?”

“What proof do you want?”

“Something definite....  You pledge yourself to me?” A movement of her head assented.  “You will give yourself back to me?” He came nearer, but she contrived to repeat the sign of assent.  “Wholly, without reserve?”

An invincible disgust shook her as the full sense of his insistence struck home.  Still she whipped herself to play out the scene—­and win!

“As you say, Victor, as you will....”

He moved still nearer.  She became conscious of his nearness as if a palpable aura of vileness emanated from his person.

“Then give me proof—­here and now.”

“How?”

He laughed a throaty, evil laugh.  “Need you ask?  Not much, my Sofia ... only a little ... something on account...”  Suddenly she could no more:  memories unspeakable rose like disturbed dregs to the surface of her consciousness.  Involuntarily, not knowing what she did, she flung out an arm and struck down his hands.

“You—­leper!”

The epithet was like a knout cutting through the decayed fibre of the man and raising a livid welt on his diseased soul.  Galled beyond endurance, his countenance convulsed with fury, he struck wickedly; and the vicious blow of his open palm across her mouth brought flecks of blood to the lips as her teeth cut into the tender flesh.

It did far more, it shattered at one stroke the brittle casing of self-command with which centuries of civilization had sought to veneer the Slav.  In a trice a woman whose existence neither of them had suspected was revealed, a fury incarnate flew at the dismayed prince, clawing, tearing, raining blows upon his face and bosom.  Overcome by surprise, blinded, dazed, staggered, he gave ground, stumbled, caught at a chair to steady himself.

As abruptly as it had begun, the assault ceased.  Panting and frantic, the girl fell back, paused, renewed her grasp upon herself, gazed momentarily in contempt on that dashed and quaking figure, then swiftly swooped down to retrieve the picture, and madly pelted toward the door.

In an instant, Victor was after her.  His clutching fingers barely missed her shoulder but caught a flying end of the veil that swathed her throat and head.  With finger-tips touching the door-knob Sofia was checked and twitched back so violently that she was all but thrown off her feet.