"Admitted that!" exclaimed the Countess with more indignation than I thought she was capable of feeling. "Do you mean to tell us that she was brazen-faced enough to confess such a thing? She must be a regular baggage and you must be mad to think of marrying her! I never heard such a thing in all my life."
"She wasn't exactly brazen-faced when she told me, Aunt Olga. I think she was rather affected by my offer; and as an honourable man——"
"Honourable fiddlesticks, Johann! Don't talk rubbish. She's an impostor, nothing else; and I shall go to my lawyer in the morning and tell him to inform the police."
Rosa came to the rescue then. "Unless you want to get Johann into serious trouble, you won't do that, mother. You've often worried because I didn't wish to marry him, and I haven't told you the real reason; but you had better know it now. The woman's story about the sale of secret information is true. You may not remember it, Johann; but I have a couple of letters of yours in which you more than half admit it, and that it was the reason why you fled the country and never intended to come back."
"Rosa!" cried the dear old lady in deep distress. "Is that true, Johann?"
"Unfortunately, I can't say either yes or no, Aunt Olga."
"I'll get the letters," said Rosa, and she fetched them and read the portions out to us. "You can see it's his handwriting;" and she gave the letters to her mother, who glanced at them and then handed them to me.
"I don't know the writing, of course," I said. "I don't believe I could even copy it. I'm in the pothook stage still." It was a small, curiously wriggling fist, difficult to decipher, but easily identified by any one who had ever seen it. And the Countess knew it well.
"What had I better do, Johann?" she appealed.
"I leave that to you. I hope I am incapable of anything of the sort now; but if I did it, I must take the consequences."