"The daughter you were delivered of recently, and for whom you have claimed my legitimate son, Alexander, as a brother, bears my name legally. I can not deprive her of it except at the cost of a scandalous inquiry, the result of which, moreover, would be an obstacle to the end I have in view, as it would be a judicial confirmation of your adultery. I shall not set that inquiry on foot, and the child will keep the name it has unconsciously stolen. I make the sacrifice for the honor of my house. But you shall not continue to call yourself the Princess Olsdorf. You will petition the Holy Synod for a divorce from me."
The princess was so amazed that she could scarcely murmur:
"From you?"
"Yes, from me," repeated the Russian nobleman. "Ah, that surprises you; you don't understand me, because you are not sufficiently versed in our laws of divorce. If I petitioned for a divorce from you it would be granted at the first inquiry; but then you would be dishonored, and some of the shame would fall upon my son. When he is older he would blush for you. I would not have that. Besides, no doubt you are ignorant of the fact that the person against whom the decree of divorce is gained may not marry again. You would therefore be condemned to live as Monsieur Paul Meyrin's concubine, should this man remain faithful to you, and your last born child would have no name, as one of the consequences of the decree against you would be a disavowal of my paternity. If I am the accused before the Holy Synod, however, I shall be condemned to celibacy, while you will continue in the eyes of the world as an honest woman under the name of Madame Meyrin."
At these two words "Madame Meyrin," the daughter of the Countess Barineff was seized with a vague fear. Amid her astonishment she made a rapid comparison of her past and the future that her husband forced upon her. Paul Meyrin was no longer the lover whose mastery over her was sensual, the man whom she as a woman loved carnally; he was already the husband and lord, such as one sees always, save at the hour when passion makes one blind.
Without analyzing the feeling which had awakened in her so suddenly, Lise was afraid. Not to betray herself she had need of all her pride and strength of will; but the prince had no doubt guessed what was passing in her mind, for he continued, in a cutting and ironical voice:
"There is nothing to hinder your marriage with Monsieur Paul Meyrin, as he belongs to a country whose laws authorize divorce. You will be good enough, then, to inform him of my will, and when the principal point is agreed on, I will point out the course you are to follow to put me in the wrong and introduce your petition to the Holy Synod. As for your personal fortune, the day after the decree of divorce is pronounced my lawyer will send you all the title-deeds; you will become absolute mistress of it. I will abstain from giving you any advice with regard to the steps you should take to secure your future. When I married you I gave you my town house in St. Petersburg. It will remain your property, but as I forbid you to ever set foot in Russia you will do well to sell it. I believe I have said all that is needful at present. I only have to await your answer to my ultimatum. But remember this oath that I make before leaving you: if for any reason whatever Monsieur Paul Meyrin does not marry you, I will kill him. Adieu, madame. May God pardon you."
Speaking these words, the prince rose, bowed to his wife, and went out without looking at her again.
The princess rose mechanically, and then fell back into her seat.
She had expected anything on the part of the outraged husband, but not this strange solution that he had insisted on with the calmness of an operator searching a wound with his scalpel.