demeanour had been courtesy and consideration
itself, but under the man's geniality and almost excessive _bonhomie_
both Allan and myself were conscious of a certain nervous impatience,
only partially concealed. Whatever proposal he might have to make to us,
our acceptance of it was without doubt a matter of great importance to
him. The more we realized this, the more we wondered.

"I only wish," he said with emphasis, "that it was within my power to
lay the cards upon the table before you, to tell you the whole truth. I
do not think then that you would hesitate for a single second. But that
I cannot do. The honour of a great house, Mr. Greatson, is involved in
this matter, into which you have been so strangely drawn. I must leave
blanks in my story which you must fill in for yourselves, you and Mr.
Mabane. There are things which I may not--dare not--tell you. If I
could, you would wonder no longer that those who desire to take over the
charge of the child wish to do so without publicity, and without any
appeal to the courts."

"The Archduchess," I remarked, "gave me some hint as to the nature of
these difficulties."

The Baron emptied his glass and called for another bottle of wine. Then
he looked carefully around him, a quite unnecessary precaution, for our
table was in a remote corner of the room, and there were very few
dining.

"It is no longer," he said, "a matter of surmise with us as to who the
child you call Isobel de Sorrens really is. She is of the House of
Waldenburg. She carries her descent written in her face, a hall-mark no
one could deny. Upon the Archduchess and others of her great family must
rest always the shadow of a grave stigma so long as the child remains in
the hands of strangers, an alien from her own country. The Archduchess
wishes at once, and quietly, to assume the charge of her. She is
conscious of your services; she feels that you have probably saved the
child from a fate which it is not easy to contemplate calmly. She
authorizes me, therefore, to treat with you in the most generous
fashion."

"That is a phrase," I remarked, "which I do not altogether understand."

"Later," the Baron said, with a meaning look, "I will make myself clear.
In the meantime, let me recommend this souffle. Mr. Mabane, you are
drinking nothing. Would you prefer your wine a shade colder?"

"Not for me," Allan declared. "I prefer champagne at its natural
temperature; the wine is far too good to have its fl