"Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still," murmured the abbess.
"This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood twenty-five years ago."
"He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be; but he is not young."
"And he is not the Duke of Hereward?"
"Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward."
"Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, who is he?" demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement.
"He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman," gravely replied the abbess.
"Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?" exclaimed Salome, in consternation.
"Yes, sure of it," answered the abbess, slowly bending her head.
"But—pardon me—I thought that he had been killed in a duel by the lover of the woman whom he had won."