"To me, in my own house, he has declared his intention of denouncing you—and also our dear Anna and the Empress."
The monk was silent. While she was seated he stood before her with folded arms, looking straight at her. Suddenly, fixing her with those remarkable eyes of his, he asked in a deep, hard voice:
"Xenie, will you permit this man to besmirch the name of him whom God hath sent to you?"
"I don't understand!" she cried, surprised at his attitude. "How can I prevent it?"
"It lies in your hands," declared the mock saint. "You are his friend—and also mine. He visits your house—what more easy—than——"
"Than what?"
"Than you should invite him to take tea with you to-morrow—to discuss myself. He knows that you are a 'disciple,' I suppose?"
"Yes, he has somehow learnt it—but my husband is in ignorance, and he has promised not to reveal the truth to him."
"If he knows of our friendship he might tell your husband. He is unprincipled, and probably will do so. That is why I suggest you should ask him to tea."
As he spoke he crossed to the writing-table, and, opening a drawer with the key upon his chain, he took out the tiny bottle of exquisite Parisian perfume.