"But I——" Olga began, accepting the defensive position into which he placed her, when he interrupted her:
"Yes, you, I know, speak the truth. I am even at liberty to believe you, but I cannot."
For an instant Olga recovered her self-possession, and her indignation sprang into a flame that she should be addressed in this manner by a man whom she had never seen before—an intruder.
"I don't know why I permit a stranger to talk to me in this fashion," she exclaimed. "It amazes me."
The man stepped toward her. Terrified, she turned and fled toward the door of the studio.
"Karl! Karl!" she called.
The stranger smiled as the doors were flung open and Karl burst into the room. The young artist paused, astonished at the presence of the stranger. He was more amazed when the man cried out in the voice of genial comradeship:
"Hello, Karl; how do you do?"
"Why, how do you do?" Karl faltered, looking blankly from Olga to the mysterious visitor. "I don't——"
"You don't remember me," the other said. "Don't you recall me at Monte Carlo?"