the letter?"

"Do you know what?" suddenly I cried as I fixed Mr. Astley
with my gaze. "I believe that you have already heard the story
from some one--very possibly from Mlle. Polina herself?"

In return he gave me an astonished stare.

"Your eyes look very fiery," he said with a return of his
former calm, "and in them I can read suspicion. Now, you have
no right whatever to be suspicious. It is not a right which I
can for a moment recognise, and I absolutely refuse to answer
your questions."

"Enough! You need say no more," I cried with a strange emotion
at my heart, yet not altogether understanding what had aroused
that emotion in my breast. Indeed, when, where, and how could
Polina have chosen Astley to be one of her confidants? Of late I
had come rather to overlook him in this connection, even though
Polina had always been a riddle to me--so much so that now, when
I had just permitted myself to tell my friend of my infatuation
in all its aspects, I had found myself struck, during the very
telling, with the fact that in my relations with her I could
specify nothing that was explicit, nothing that was positive. On
the contrary, my relations had been purely fantastic, strange,
and unreal; they had been unlike anything else that I could
think of.

"Very well, very well," I replied with a warmth equal to
Astley's own. "Then I stand confounded, and have no further