The colour had left her cheeks; her eyes, with their pencilled brows, were fixed in an almost ghastly stare; her breath was coming in uneven gasps. She looked at him in silent terror.
"It is not true!" she cried at last. "It cannot be true!"
"Sophia," he said, "you can prove it for yourself. I know a little of your husband and his doings. Does he not carry always with him a black box which he will not allow out of his sight?"
"Always," she assented. "How did you know? By night his hand rests upon it. By day, if he goes out, it is in my charge."
"Fetch it now," Bernadine directed. "I will prove my words."
She did not hesitate for a moment. She disappeared into the inner room and came back after only a few moments' absence, carrying a black leather dispatch-box.
"You have the key?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, looking at him and trembling; "but I dare not—oh, I dare not open it!"
"Sophia," he said, "if my words are not true, I will pass out of your life for ever. I challenge you. If you open that box you will know that your husband is indeed the greatest scoundrel in Europe."
She drew a key from a gold chain around her neck.