Then it suddenly struck him that, so long as he stood there, Pauline would not be approached by Ouvaroff. Not wishing, therefore, to deprive her of the desired interview, Wilfrid walked slowly out upon the terrace, thinking that, if the Duchess were really in the ballroom, and had seen the embroidered scarf, she would perhaps, after a reasonable time, follow in his wake. From the terrace a flight of steps descended to the palace gardens, now in all the glory of their summer foliage. Voices and laughter from near and far showed that many of the masqueraders preferred the purer air of night to the atmosphere of the ballroom. And then, too, the gardens with their shady walks, winding here and there beside silver lakes, formed an ideal place for love-making. As he did not appear to be followed by the Duchess, Wilfrid resolved to make a tour of these gardens in the hope of meeting her. Rapidly traversing this or that path, as chance directed, he came in the course of his search upon a terrace over-hanging the Neva. A little group was looking down upon the smooth-flowing water. “There goes my fan!” said a fair masker, lamenting the loss of that article, accidentally dropped by her into the river. “A hundred roubles floating away.” “Ask the Baroness Runö to restore it you to-morrow,” said a gentleman beside her. This chance mention of Pauline’s name caused Wilfrid to listen for a moment. “I don’t understand——” began the lady. “Why, look you,” replied her companion, “she goes to-morrow to her summer residence, the castle on her little island of Runö, some three miles down the river.” “You mean that——” “The current of the river strikes directly upon the eastern side of Runö, upon the shore called the Silver Strand. Things carried down by the river are always——” “Always?” “Well, say usually, cast ashore upon this same strand. There’s a romantic story that a former Prince Sumaroff, being in love with a daughter of a former Baron Runö, used to communicate with her by putting a letter into the cleft of a stick and throwing it into the river. An hour afterwards the lady would be reading the message. So, perhaps, your fan——” An interesting anecdote, but as it had nothing to do with the whereabouts of the Duchess, Wilfrid passed on, coming finally to a lonely and quiet spot, a spot as far as he could judge, the most remote from the palace. Just as he was on the point of turning back, his ear was suddenly caught by the sound of voices coming from the other side of some shrubbery against which he was standing. “The Neva’s waters are deep!”