“In the course of years she married the son of the American Consul at Vienna.  I was obliged, by the bye, to fight her brother, and he carried his enmity to me through life.  I saw her sometimes in the course of years.  She was always beautiful, always surrounded by a host of admirers, always cold.  When the end of my great plans here came, and I myself was a fugitive, her brother found me out.  He gave me a letter to deliver in America.  I delivered it—­to his sister.

“She was as beautiful as ever, and alone in the world.  It seemed to me that I realised then how great my folly had been.  For always I had loved her, always there had been that jealously locked little chamber in my life.  Helene, she pointed no finger of scorn to my broken life.  She uttered no reproaches.  She took me as I was, and for three years our life together has been to me one long unbroken harmony.  Our tastes were very similar.  She was well read, receptive, a charming companion.  Ennui was a word of which I have forgotten the meaning.  And it seemed so with her, too, for she grew younger and more beautiful.”

“And why is she not with you?” Helene cried.  “I must go and see her.  How delightful it sounds!”

“One day, about three months ago,” Mr. Sabin continued, “she left me to go to New York for two days.  Her milliner in Paris had sent over, and twice a year Lucille used to buy clothes.  I had sometimes accompanied her, but she knew how I detested New York, and this time she did not press me to go.  She left me in the highest spirits, as tender and gracefully affectionate as ever.  She never returned.”

Helene started in her chair.

“Oh, uncle!” she cried.

“I have never seen her since,” he repeated.

“Have you no clue?  She could not have left you willingly.  Have you no idea where she is?”

He bowed his head slowly.

“Yes,” he said, “I know where she is.  She came to Europe with Lady Carey.  She is staying with the Duchess of Dorset.”

“The Countess Radantz?” Helene cried.

“It was her maiden name,” he answered.

There was a moment’s silence.  Helene was bewildered.

“Then you have seen her?”

He shook his head slowly.

“No.  I did not even know where she was until you told me.”

“But why do you wait a single moment?” she asked.  “There must be some explanation.  Let me order a carriage now.  I will drive round to Dorset House with you.”

She half rose.  He held out his hand and checked her.

“There are other things to be explained,” he said quickly.  “Sit down, Helene.”

She obeyed him, mystified.

“For your own sake,” he continued, “there are certain facts in connection with this matter which I must withhold.  All I can tell you is this.  There are people who have acquired a hold upon Lucille so great that she is forced to obey their bidding.  Lady Carey is one, the Duchess of Dorset is another.  They are no friends of mine, and apparently Lucille has been taken away from me by them.”