The man bowed and left the room.
The duke dropped into a chair, and with a strange, vague foreboding of evil, opened the letter.
Well might he shrink from the dread perusal of the story—the story of her cowardice and folly, and of his own humiliation and despair.
It was Valerie's full confession, the revelation of her woeful history as it is known to the reader, with one single reservation—the name of her lover.
The Duke of Hereward had wonderful powers of self-control. He read the fatal letter through to the bitter end. Then he folded it up carefully, and locked it up in a cabinet for safe-keeping.
And when, fifteen minutes later, his valet came to tell him that it was nine o'clock, and his bath was ready, no one could have guessed from his looks that a storm had passed through his soul.
He was rather pale, certainly; but that might well be explained by the fatigue of a long night's journey, and his gray mustache and beard concealed the close compression of his lips. He went through his morning toilet and his breakfast with apparently his usual composure.
After breakfast, however, he instituted a cautious but close investigation of the circumstances attending the flight of the duchess.
The servants, having nothing to gain from concealment and nothing to fear from communication, spoke freely of the daily visits of the Count de Volaski, continued through the seven weeks of the duke's absence.
Then the dreadful light of conviction burst full upon his startled intelligence. Count Waldemar de Volaski had been her acquaintance at the Court of St. Petersburg! He it was, then, who had been the hero of her foolish love story and mad marriage, before the duke had ever seen her. He it was who had been her constant visitor during the duke's absence. He it was who was the companion of her flight!