“The truth!” she cried hoarsely at last, her hand upon her throbbing breast. “You ask me to clear suspicion from the woman whose whim it has been to marry you and I refuse, because I should bring her happiness, and remove from her the terror that now holds her enthralled. But I have reconsidered my decision. I—”
“Ah, tell me!” I exclaimed, interrupting her in my eagerness.
“I will speak because my disclosures, remarkable though they may be, will not only bring peace to you and your wife, but will also prove a trifle disconcerting to her companions. Once they hunted me from town to town as a criminal; they will now beg to me for mercy upon their knees.”
“Tell me. Do not conceal the truth longer,” I cried anxiously.
“No. Only in Elizaveta’s presence will I speak,” she answered, in a strained voice quivering with violent emotion. “Let us start for Paris to-night. When the moon rises I will guide you through the forest into Germany; we can cross the Jura by the bridge beyond Absteinen, and from Tilsit take train to Berlin. In two days we can be in Paris. Take me to her,” she said with sudden eagerness, “and you shall both learn facts that will astound you.”
“I am quite ready,” I said; “I knew you alone would prove my friend.”
“No,” she answered, regarding me gravely. “No, Geoffrey. It is a secret full of grim realities and ugly revelations, which, when disclosed, will, I fear, cause you to hate me, and count me among your enemies. But you seek the truth; you shall therefore be satisfied.”