“There is the signature. You have seen it many a time, and should know whether it is genuine.”
Bewildered, the Marquis sank upon a sofa. A new feeling stole over him as he contemplated his beautiful daughter—a feeling of admiration bordering upon awe.
“Then,” said he, “who on earth is the lady whom Lord Courtenay met at the masquerade?”
“Did you say that Lord Courtenay has been here?”
“Yes.”
“In this room?”
“Nowhere else.”
“And didn’t notice that?” said Pauline, pointing to a lady’s portrait hanging upon the wall.
“My God!” gasped the Marquis, more startled than ever. “Is that the lady?”
“None other. Now you see why this duel must not be.”