"Oh, Paulina!" cried Douglas; "why still endeavour to sustain a deception which I have unmasked? I know all."
"All what?" gasped the bewildered woman.
"All your guilt—all your baseness. Oh, Paulina, confess the treachery which would have robbed me of life; and which, failing that, has for ever destroyed my peace. If you are human, let some word of remorse, some tardy expression of regret, attest your womanhood."
"I can only think that he is mad," murmured Paulina to herself, as she gazed on her accuser with wondering eyes.
"Paulina, at least do not pretend to misunderstand me."
"Your words," replied Madame Durski, "seem to me the utterances of a madman. For pity's sake, calm yourself, and speak plainly."
"I think that I have spoken, very plainly."
"I can discover no meaning in your words. What is it you would have me regret? Of what crime do you accuse me?"
"The worst and darkest of all crimes," replied Douglas; "the crime of murder."
"Murder?"