uld surely want to know why we did no
work to-day. Now I will leave you."

CHAPTER III

He left the room, closing the studio doors behind him. Olga looked
apprehensively about her. Some mysterious presence seemed to oppress
her. She fumbled with nerveless fingers at the buttons of her waist.

"Oh, what folly!" she cried to herself. "What is the matter with me?"

Resolutely she set to work and drew from her beautiful shoulders and
gleaming, rounded arms the silken waist that covered them. She turned to
get the shawl, and the waist fell to the floor, as she recoiled with a
shriek of terror from an apparition that arose slowly from the depths of
the big arm-chair.

Where there had been no human being an instant before Olga saw a tall,
strange-looking man. He was in conventional afternoon attire, save that
his waistcoat was red, in sharp contrast to the somber black of his
frock coat. His hair was black. His upward pointing eyebrows were black,
and his eyes shone like dull-burning lumps of coal. His face was like a
mask, matching his immaculate linen in whiteness. It was cynical in its
expression and almost sinister as he bowed low, with his hands folded
over his breast, and said in a low, musical voice:

"Pardon me, madam, I think you dropped something."

He stooped and picked up the silken waist which had fallen from Olga's
hands. As he held it out to her she drew back in horror.

Olga shrank from this strange being, sensible of his serpent-like
fascination, even while he repelled her. It flashed across her
consciousness that he was something more than human, something
worse--the embodiment of malevolent purpose--a man devoid of good--the
Devil himself.

He came from behind the chair, and as he moved toward her his every
action heightened the impression she had received. In a situation where
any man might have been confused he was perfectly self-possessed. His
attitude was neither offensive nor ingratiating. He became at once a
part of her surroundings, of her thoughts, yes, of her soul. It was this
influence that she felt herself combating with growing weakness.

"I hope you will forgive me," his smooth, suave voice went on, breaking
the stillness almost melodiously, and he bowed again. "I permitted
myself to fall asleep."

Still Olga could not find tongue, and she drew yet farther away. The
man, or the devil, watched her as she groped for the shawl, found it and
quickly wound its filmy length around