“We married and at first were happy:—at least I was. Her beauty, her sweetness, charmed me. Yes, I truly loved her till—till I discovered that I held only the second place in her heart.”
“I think your Majesty errs. How did you discover it?”
“In the early days of our betrothal she spoke to me of a certain Englishman, Wilfrid Courtenay, and earnestly begged that she might be permitted to continue wearing a locket containing his portrait on the plea that he had saved her life.
“As heaven is my witness, I bore this man no jealousy: nay, I told her I would love him for her sake, that when I was Czar I would invite him to my Court and pay him high honour as one who had preserved for me a sweet and fair bride.
“But mark the sequel.
“One night—it is now about two years ago—I entered her bed-chamber at a late hour, and found her fast asleep. As I bent over her, admiring her beauty, a smile curved her lips, and from them came a word softly spoken. That word was—‘Wilfrid’!
“I started back as from the hiss of a serpent. The Englishman was in her thoughts, his name was on her lips, his image within a locket lay upon her breast!
“That night was the beginning of my suspicions.”
“Suspicions which Baranoff did his best to fan,” interjected Pauline.