itzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine,
remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at her
hostess.

"Ah!" she said. "_Vraiment!_"

By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and the
downstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying the
luggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy's
noisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and the
introduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire was
permitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, and
of the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of the
guest of honor.

"H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him _here_!"

"It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently.
Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be taken
anywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."

"Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut in
rather sharply.

"_Pierre!_" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty broken
English, "You say, Monsieur, it is he--Pe-ter Nichols--who 'as been
badly 'urt?"

"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad--shot through the breast----"

"_Sainte Vierge!_"

"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so,
the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"

Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathing
with some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face,
found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, the
Princess recovered herself with an effort.

"No--yes, Monsieur. It--it is nothing. But if you please--I should like
to go at once to my room."

And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way up
the stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of the
house, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case.

At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her,
pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forced
to relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there to
meditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why was
Anastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of Peter
Nichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in the
past--in England--in Russia? What was he to her?

But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her