No subtler tempter ever spoke to the hearts of a man and a woman. Karl was leaning over Olga now; he saw her eyes, her lips, soft, warm, rose-colored, he felt her arms as she clung to him, while over them both gloated the sinister figure of Millar—the devil—triumphant, confident that his work was done.
There was a crashing ring at the doorbell that acted like an electric shock on the group. Karl and Olga came to their senses, dazed, trembling, thankful. Millar stepped down from the chair, baffled, and turned his back upon them.
"My husband!" Olga gasped.
"Mr. Moneybags!" Millar sneered contemptuously.
Olga and Karl quickly drew apart. Both were relieved. Olga felt as if she had stepped back from the brink of a terrible precipice, over which she had almost fallen. Her face was colorless, and there were lines of agony across her brow. The two unhappy people stood staring at each other for a full minute before Heinrich entered and announced Herman.
It had been growing dark in the studio during the remarkable discourse by Millar, but so absorbed had both his listeners been in their own tremendous emotions that they had paid no heed. Now, as Herman entered, his first exclamation was:
"How dark it is in here. I am sorry I am late."
Heinrich turned on the lights, and the apartment was suddenly illuminated. Karl and Olga had not yet recovered their self-possession, but Karl managed to indicate with a wave of his hand his strange visitor.
"Dr. Millar," he said.
Millar nodded absently and barely replied to Herman's cordial greeting. He was still enraged at the interruption which had prevented the success of his infamous plan. Herman turned quickly to Karl and Olga.