“And this fellow’s name?” I asked, my anger rising at the thought of a discharged employé thus holding Léonie in his power, and, despite the fact that he had made an attempt upon her life, badgering her to marry him. “Is there any reason why I should not know it?”
There was a brief silence. She hesitated to tell me, and not until I had pressed her several times to disclose to me his name would she answer.
“The man who is seeking to drive me to destruction and to suicide is,” she replied reluctantly, “an adventurer of the worst type—a man who is seeking to make a wealthy marriage at the expense of a woman whom he holds in his power, and whom he can ruin at any moment if he chooses.”
“His name? Tell me.”
“His name is Count Rodolphe d’Egloffstein-Wolfsburg.”
I held my breath, utterly amazed by this disclosure.
“The man known as Rodolphe Wolf?” I cried—“the adventurer who fell into the hands of the police at St. Petersburg, and served nine months’ imprisonment as a rogue and vagabond?”
“What! you know him?” she demanded in surprise. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“A friend!” I echoed. “No, not a friend by any means. An enemy, and a bitter one.”
“Then he is mutually our enemy?” she declared.