this woman?" he asked.

Peter shook his head.

"I think not," he replied. "We shall know in a minute."

"Then she has come to see you," Sogrange continued. "What does it mean,
I wonder?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders.

There was a knock at the door, and his servant entered, bearing a card.

"This lady would like to see you, sir, on important business," he said.

"You can show her in here," Peter directed.

There was a very short delay. The two men had no time to exchange a
word. They heard the rustling of a woman's gown, and immediately
afterward the perfume of violets seemed to fill the room.

"The Baroness von Ratten," the butler announced.

The door closed behind her. The servant had disappeared. Peter advanced
to meet his guest. She was a little above medium height, very slim, with
extraordinarily fair hair, colourless face, and strange eyes. She was
not strictly beautiful, and yet there was no man upon whom her presence
was without its effect. Her voice was like her movements, slow, and with
a grace of its own.

"You do not mind that I have come to see you?" she asked, raising her
eyes to Peter's. "I believe before I go that you will think terrible
things of me, but you must not begin before I have told you my errand.
It has been a great struggle with me before I made up my mind to come
here."

"Won't you sit down, Baroness?" Peter invited.

She saw Sogrange, and hesitated.

"You are not alone," she said softly. "I wish to speak with you alone."

"Permit me to present to you the Marquis de Sogrange," Peter begged. "He
is my oldest friend, Baroness. I think that whatever you might have to
say to me you might very well say before him."

"It is--of a private nature," she murmured.

"The Marquis and I have no secrets," Peter declared, "either political
or private."

She sat down and motioned Peter to take a place by her side upon the
sofa.

"You will forgive me if I am a little incoherent," she implored. "To-day
I have had a shock. You, too, have read the news? You must know that the
Count von Hern is dead--killed in the railway accident last night?"

"We read it in the _Daily Telegraph_," Peter replied.

"It is in all the papers," she continued. "You know that he was a very
dear friend of mine?"

"I have heard so," Peter admitted.

"Yet there was one subject," she insisted, earnestly, "upon which we
never agreed. He hated England. I have always loved it. England was kind
to me when my ow