“Well?” queried Diana coolly, intent on driving her into giving up her knowledge.  “What if they had?”

Olga surveyed her ironically.

“What if they had?  Only that, if they had, probably you wouldn’t have possessed a husband a few hours later.  A knife in the back is a quick road out of life, you know.”

Diana caught her breath, and her self-command gave way suddenly.

“For God’s sake, what do you mean?  Tell me—­you must tell me—­everything, everything!  I can’t bear it any longer.  I know too much—­” She broke off with a dry, choking sob.

Olga’s face softened.

“You poor child!” she muttered to herself.  Then, aloud, she said gently:  “Tell me—­how much do you know?”

With an effort Diana mastered herself again.

“I know Max’s parentage,” she began steadily.

“You know that?”—­with quick surprise.

“Yes.  And that he has a sister.”

Olga nodded, smiling rather oddly.

“Yes.  He has a sister,” she admitted.

“And that he is involved in Ruvanian politics.  Something is going to happen there, in Ruvania—­”

“Yes to that also.  Something is going to happen there.  The republic is down and out, and the last of the Mazaroffs is going to receive back the ducal crown.”  There was a tinge of mockery in Miss Lermontof’s curt tones.

Diana gave a cry of dismay.

“Not—­not Max?” she stammered.  All at once, he seemed to have receded very far away from her, to have been snatched into a world whither she would never be able to follow him.

“Max?” Olga’s face darkened.  “No—­not Max, but Nadine Mazaroff.”

“Nadine Mazaroff?” repeated Diana uncomprehendingly.  “Who is Nadine Mazaroff?”

“She is the woman you knew as Adrienne de Gervais.”

“Adrienne?  Is that her name—­Nadine Mazaroff?  Then—­then”—­Diana’s breath came unevenly—­“she’s not Max’s sister?”

“No”—­shortly.  “She is—­or will be within a week—­the Grand Duchess of Ruvania.”

“Go on,” urged Diana, as the other paused.  “Go on.  Tell me everything.  I know so much already that it can’t be breaking faith with any one for you to tell me the whole truth now.”

Olga looked at her consideringly.

“No.  I suppose, since the journalists have ferreted it out, it won’t be a secret much longer,” she conceded grimly.  “And, in any case, it doesn’t matter now.  It’s all settled.”  She sighed.  “Besides”—­with a faint smile—­“if I tell you, it will save Max a long story when you meet.”

“Yes,” replied Diana, an odd expression flitting across her face.  “It will save Max a long story—­when we meet.  Tell me,” she continued, with an effort, “tell me about—­Nadine Mazaroff.”

“Nadine?” cried Olga, with sudden violence.  “Nadine Mazaroff is the woman I hate more than any other on this earth!” Her eyes gleamed malevolently.  “She stands where Max should stand.  If it were not for her the Ruvanian people would have accepted him as their ruler—­and overlooked his English mother.  But Nadine is the legitimate heir, the child of the late Grand Duke—­and Max is thrust out of the succession, because our father’s marriage was a morganatic one.”