“They will make the man I love rich and famous!” she replied, with eyes that seemed to light up the room far more than the starlight entering.  “You know all about the work.  With those plans in the language you also read, you can rise higher than he!  He restricts his genius to his country—­you—­we will sell to the highest bidder!”

“Mercenary fiend!  I comprehend all now!” said the Italian.

“So much the better!” she replied, coolly, having opened the window and descried a shadow standing guard in a narrow alley.  “We shall lose no time in explaining.”

“You mean to betray your country?”

“Neither mine nor yours! our country is wherever love and gold are rulers.”

“Wretch!” cried he, taking a step toward her so threateningly that she retreated from the window to which his back was turned as he continued to face her.

“Which is the meaner?” she responded.  “I deceive a man who loaths me, scorns me and threatens me with the love of another!  You deceive the man who shelters you and to whom you owe everything.  I betray him who does me harm—­you, him who did you good.  We are on a level, unless you have surpassed me.  This is love!  Did you imagine that you can withdraw the foot that takes one step in this path?  An error, for one must tread it to the end.  The steps are passion, the fault, the vice and the crime.  But I have need of you to save me.  I am yours and your soul is mine!  Take the spoil and follow me!”

In his surprise, Antonino did not remark a footstep, sounding harsh with gravel grinding the wood of the verandah, or a grim face at the open window.

“You are right,” he said.  “I am a scoundrel, but I am not going to be a villain.  It is I who should commit suicide.  Farewell! my death be on your head!”

“You have spoken your doom!” said she quickly, as she made a sign to Von Sendlingen in whose hand she saw naked steel abruptly gleam.

“Who’s there?” began the Italian, but, before he could turn, the long stiletto, drawn out of a sword-cane, was passed through his slender body.

He fell without a groan and his staring eyes, sublimely unconscious of his assassin and of the instigator of the crime, were riveted, on the ceiling.

“Confound it!” said the colonel, “this is not your husband!”

“No, another conscientious fool!” she said brutally.  “Waste no time on that boy.  Before the man returns, let us seize our prise.  Keep your hands off.  This is no common chest.  It opens with a combination lock and the word is ‘R-e-b-e-c-c-a!’”

She quickly fingered the studs which opened the lock when properly played upon, and to the joy of Colonel Von Sendlingen, she could lift up the loosened lid.  But for a temporary vexation, they saw in the dim light that a kind of steel grating still closed the discovered space.

“That will not detain me long,” said the colonel, contemptuously, and relying upon his great strength as he forced his fingers between these bars, he secured a firm hold and began to draw the frame up toward him.  “You have done your part, madame, well, and I—­”