Prince Victor Vassilyevski gave a gesture of pain and reluctance.
“Must I tell you? Why not? You must know some day, as well now as later, perhaps. Twenty years ago the name of Michael Lanyard was famous throughout Europe—or shall I say infamous?—the name of the greatest thief of modern times, otherwise known as ‘The Lone Wolf’.”
Involuntarily, Sofia stepped back, as if some shape of horror had been suddenly thrust before her face.
“The Lone Wolf!” she echoed in a voice of dismay. “A thief! You!”
The man who called himself her father replied with a series of slow, affirmative nods.
“That startles you?” he said in an indulgent voice. “Naturally. But you will soon grow accustomed to the thought, you will condone that chapter in my history, remembering I am no longer that man, no longer a thief, that for many years now my record has been without reproach. You will remember that there is more joy in Heaven over the one sinner who repents ... You will forgive the father, if only for your mother’s sake.”
“For my mother’s sake—?”
“What the Lone Wolf was in his day, your mother was in hers—the most brilliant adventuress Europe ever knew.”
“Oh!” cried the girl in semi-hysterical protest. “Oh, no, no! Impossible!”
“I assure you, it is quite true. Some day I may tell you her history—and mine. For the present, you will do well to think no more about what I have confessed. Repining can never mend the past. It is to-day and to-morrow you must think of: that you are restored to me, and that I have not only the means but a great hunger to make you happy, to gratify your slightest whim.”