Dalmatian Embassy the next afternoon it
was with a firm determination to learn more of the Countess's guest.
If she would not tell him about herself, then he would find out from
the wife of the Ambassador.

The Countess had always warmly welcomed Paul, when Count Oreshefski
presided over the legation house in London, and Paul had responded to
her motherly interest by opening his heart to a greater extent even
than to his own mother, the proud Lady Henrietta. For the Countess had
known and loved his Queen--a fact which formed an unalterable bond of
sympathy between them.

Paul wandered about the drawing-room, when the footman had departed
with his card, too restless--too eager--to be seated. In one of his
turns about the room his eyes alighted on an object which instantly
arrested his idle steps. It was a woman's photograph, lying on a small
table, as though placed there by a careless hand and then forgotten. A
tiny object to work such an effect, but it was enough to bring Paul to
a round halt.

There, looking up at him from the card, was the face of the woman he
had come to see--Mademoiselle Vseslavitch. There was a wistful,
touching expression to the pictured face, but it was a remarkably fine
likeness, and Paul glowed with secret joy as he hid it away in his
breast-pocket, murmuring inaudibly to be forgiven for the theft,
but--alas for the cause of honesty--gleefully unrepentant.

He scarcely had time to move from the table, as his ear caught the
rustle of approaching silk, when the fair original of the photograph
entered, alone, and greeted him cordially.

"I am so sorry!" she said, as she held out her hand toward Paul. "The
Countess has been suddenly called to Etampes, where her sister is ill.
I am left to do the honours at the tea-table. You won't mind, I hope?"

Paul expressed himself as sorry to learn of the illness of the
Countess's sister; he did not know the lady. And he spoke the usual
regrets over missing the charming society of the Ambassador's wife.
But there was a light in his eye which denied any great grief. As a
matter of fact, he was overjoyed that he would have the Countess's
guest to himself.

"Come into the library," said Mademoiselle Vseslavitch, "and we will
have the tea things brought in there. It's not too early for you, is
it?"

Paul laughed at the idea of its ever being too early for an
Englishman's tea. Under pressure of work, when Parliament was sitting,
he drank innumerable cup