"It happens to be the truth," Trent returned.
He could see that Pauline was now listening intently. Her pose of antagonism to the stranger was swept away by her anxiety for his safety. Her heart thrilled to see him standing there, debonair, smiling, dominating. It seemed madness to her, this avowal of success.
"You are learning wisdom," Count Michæl commented.
"We may define the term differently," Trent smiled. "I did not burn the paper."
"Ah!" the count breathed excitedly. "Now we have it."
"I preferred to keep it so that I could assure the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosecarrel, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, that I had indeed succeeded. You will understand my feelings. Perhaps it was bravado but none seems to believe that such papers ever do get burned. You, count, seemed to doubt it."
"Where is it?" the count snapped. "Your life depends on your truth."
"I have put it in a safe place," Trent said, resuming his pacing of the room.
The count's excitement banished the air of toleration he had with difficulty affected toward one he hated.