"You
belong to me. I have paid the price. I, too, am amongst the long
list of those poor fools who have sold their gods and their honour
for a woman's kiss. But I will not be left wholly destitute. You
shall pay me for what I have lost."
"Oh, you are mad!" she answered. "How could you have deceived
yourself so? Don't you know that my husband is in London?"
"The man who calls himself Mr. Sabin?" he answered roughly. "What
has that to do with it? You are living apart. Saxe Leinitzer and
the Duchess have both told me the history of your married life. Or
is the whole thing a monstrous lie?" he cried, with a sudden dawning
sense of the truth. "Nonsense! I won't believe it. Lucille!
You're not afraid! I shall be good to you. You don't doubt that.
Sabin will divorce you of course. You won't lose your friends. I--"
There was a sudden loud tapping at the door. Brott dropped her
wrist and turned round with an exclamation of anger. To Lucille it
was a Heaven-sent interposition. The Prince entered, pale, and
with signs of hurry and disorder about his usually immaculate person.
"You are both here," he exclaimed. "Good! Lucille, I must speak
with you urgently in five minutes. Brott, come this way with me."
Lucille sank into a chair with a little murmur of relief. The
Prince led Brott into another room, and closed the door carefully
behind him.
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