When Verisschenzko reached Paris and discovered the desecration of the
Ikon, an icy rage came over him. He knew, even before questioning his old
servant, that it could only be the work of Harietta. Jealousy alone would
be the cause of such a wanton act. It revealed to him the certainty of
his theory that she had imagined the little Benedict to be his child. No
further proof that the postcard was a forgery was really needed, but he
would see her once more and obtain extra confirmation.
His yellow-green eyes gleamed in a curious way as he stood looking at the
mutilated picture.
That her ridiculous and accursed hatpin should have dared to touch the
eyes of his soul's lady, and scratch out the face of the child!
But he must not let this emotion of personal anger affect what he
inte
