"How did you learn this--wonderful news?" The count's voice, though low, rang like steel on stone.
She gave him a startled look, and withdrew the note from its warm resting place and handed it silently to him.
"May I take it to the light?" Without waiting for permission, he rose and stepped to the window. He stood with his eyes glued to the oblong strip of paper. A curious greyish pallor had spread across his countenance, and his hands shook. A gust of strong rage overtook him, as he stared down at the familiar handwriting. "Imbecile!" he muttered. With an effort he collected himself, and turned back to the girl. "Permit me to ask if your aunt has seen this--ah--communication?"
She shook her head. "You see, he--he has forbidden me to speak!" Tears clouded her vision.
The sternness melted out of his face, but he put another question.
"And your estimable young friend whom I met at the door?"
He took a deep breath and returned to his place at her side.
"I wished to tell him," she continued, "for Cord is so good! He is as dear to me as a brother."
The count restrained a smile. He bent down and possessed himself of her hand. "Dear lady," he said, "you must conceal this, even from your brother. It was a mad thing for your father to do! I think Baggin would kill him if he knew!" His own face hardened as he spoke. "But what's done can be undone." He leaned forward and dropped the paper upon the glowing coals. It smoked, then turned a deep quivering red, against which the letters were blackly visible. "Look!" he exclaimed softly. One phrase stood out strong and clear upon the darkening ashes.
"'Trust Poltavo!'" Doris whispered. She bent a little toward him. Her eyes were luminous, and her red lips parted. "It is a good omen!" she breathed.
"And you will trust me in this matter?" he asked.
He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.
She flushed warmly. "You must not speak of such things now. I must not listen. I can think only of my father. He is not dead--for that I thank Heaven. But he is in danger--great danger, both from Baggin and the law. He--he loved me more than his millions, and wrote to reassure me of his safety. Oh!" she exclaimed passionately, "he is not bad, Count Poltavo--as Baggin is--as I once thought you were--but only weak, and swayed by his imagination. He sees things big. He dreams of a financial empire such as the world never knew."