The heavy lids drooped lower over the illegible eyes.  “My attention was called to a newspaper advertisement signed by a firm of solicitors.  I got in touch with them—­a matter of some difficulty, since it was after business hours—­and found out where to look for you.  Then, prevented from acting as quickly as I wished, myself, I sent Karslake here to bring you to me.”

“But, according to their letter, the solicitors thought I was in France, in a convent!”

“When they advertised for me—­yes.  But by the time I enquired they were better informed.”

“But the advertisement was addressed to Michael Lanyard!”

The thin lips formed a faint smile.  “That was once my name.  I no longer use it.”

Against a feeling that she was adopting an attitude both undutiful and unbecoming, Sofia persisted.

“Why?”

Prince Victor Vassilyevski gave a gesture of pain and reluctance.

“Must I tell you?  Why not?  You must know some day, as well now as later, perhaps.  Twenty years ago the name of Michael Lanyard was famous throughout Europe—­or shall I say infamous?—­the name of the greatest thief of modern times, otherwise known as ’The Lone Wolf’.”

Involuntarily, Sofia stepped back, as if some shape of horror had been suddenly thrust before her face.

“The Lone Wolf!” she echoed in a voice of dismay.  “A thief!  You!”

The man who called himself her father replied with a series of slow, affirmative nods.

“That startles you?” he said in an indulgent voice.  “Naturally.  But you will soon grow accustomed to the thought, you will condone that chapter in my history, remembering I am no longer that man, no longer a thief, that for many years now my record has been without reproach.  You will remember that there is more joy in Heaven over the one sinner who repents ...  You will forgive the father, if only for your mother’s sake.”

“For my mother’s sake—?”

“What the Lone Wolf was in his day, your mother was in hers—­the most brilliant adventuress Europe ever knew.”

“Oh!” cried the girl in semi-hysterical protest.  “Oh, no, no!  Impossible!”

“I assure you, it is quite true.  Some day I may tell you her history—­and mine.  For the present, you will do well to think no more about what I have confessed.  Repining can never mend the past.  It is to-day and to-morrow you must think of:  that you are restored to me, and that I have not only the means but a great hunger to make you happy, to gratify your slightest whim.”

“I want nothing!” Sofia insisted, wildly.

“You want sleep,” Prince Victor corrected, fondly—­“you want it badly.  You are nervous, overstrung, in no condition to understand the great good fortune that has befallen you.  But to-morrow you will see things in a rosier light.”

Apparently he had manipulated some signal unremarked by Sofia.  The door opened, framing the figure of the man Nogam.  Without looking round, but with an inscrutable smile, Prince Victor took the girl in his arms again and held her close.