Entering the castle, Wilfrid was led through several corridors and apartments, till his conductor stopped at last before a certain door, at which he tapped thrice. “Come in,” said a sweet and familiar voice. Beauvais drew aside, and Wilfrid entered the room alone. Of the size, character, and furnishings of this apartment, he took no note; his eye rested on one object alone, the figure of Pauline, the sole occupant of the room. She had risen to receive him, and stood looking somewhat paler than usual. Her half-smile of greeting died away as she beheld his stern glance. “So it is to _you_, then, that I owe this abduction?” “Am I not acting for the best?” she said, in a faint voice. “I compliment you upon your new greatness,” he continued sarcastically. “My new greatness?” she faltered. “Yes. If the Czar may not fight a duel when he is so disposed, then it is not the Czar that rules, but the Baroness Runö.” She looked at him with a sort of fear in her eyes, as if detecting some hidden meaning in his words. “Do you know that you have made me lose my honour?” he continued. “In what way?” “You have caused me to break my word to be at a certain spot by eight this morning. My absence will be attributed to fear.” At this point Pauline’s pent up excitement bubbled over in a quick agitated flow of words. “You have no right,” she cried, “to undertake this duel. A chance slip of your blade, and all might be over with Alexander. And how would you save yourself from death? Whither would you flee? To the British Embassy? Do you think that the people of St. Petersburg, roused to fury by the death of the Czar, would care anything for the law of nations? You, and the uncle that gave you protection, and all the English within the building, would be dragged forth into the streets and massacred. Think of others, if you will not think of yourself. The Czar, in condescending to waive his rank and to meet you in duel, is acting like a gentleman, but you are not acting as such in taking advantage of his condescension. Indifferent as to whether you kill Alexander, indifferent as to whether the Peace Treaty be signed, indifferent as to whether you plunge an empire into mourning, or cover European politics with inextricable confusion, you wish for the duel merely to boast of being the only man in history to cross swords with a Czar, merely to be talked about. Not honour, or truth, or justice, calls you to this duel, but sheer vanity, and vanity alone.” She paused, completely out of breath, with her rapid speaking. Never had Wilfrid seen her looking so angry; and he was fain to confess that her lifted hand, the unstudied grace of her figure, the sparkling of her eye, and the colour that burned on her cheek, gave a new aspect to her beauty.