“Be calm, dear Baroness. Alexander is guiltless. The truth is, the assassins made a terrible mistake. Did you not tell me that she went to this masquerade in gold-brocaded silk? Just so! Well, when discovered by us she was wearing a grey domino of common serge, which is a clear proof that she must have exchanged her costume with some other woman, her aim probably being to conceal more effectually her interview with Lord Courtenay, and I strongly suspect that this other woman was one Nadia Borovna, of the Inn of the Silver Birch. It is easy to see how one woman might meet the fate intended for the other. In fact, the ruffians appear to have made so sure of their victim that they did not even remove her mask. This letter, written by the said Nadia and found upon the dress of the victim, will partly help to prove my theory.” Pauline took the missive and read it slowly. “It must have been Baranoff’s doings,” she remarked, looking up from the letter, intensely relieved to find her suspicions against Alexander groundless. “Seemingly. At any rate he is the one most interested in seeing that both the letter and its writer are destroyed. When he learns what a mistake his hirelings have made he’ll be ready to cut his throat. The Czar will show him no mercy.” “I never believed in Lord Courtenay’s guilt at the Inn of the Silver Birch,” said Pauline, glancing over the missive again, “and this letter vindicates my opinion.” “True, but you’ll be unwise to show it to him.” “Why?” “Because if that event is allowed to receive an innocent interpretation, it will be still easier to explain away the kiss given by her at the masquerade. It was simply a reward for service done to the State. No, no, Baroness; it must be our duty to see that her return to Alexander is made an impossibility, and as matters are at present the way is still open for a reconciliation between them.” “What, then, do you advise?” “Why, this. Let her remain here for a time in concealment. She’ll not object. She is evidently in love with Lord Courtenay; he with her. Let matters, then, take their natural course. Isn’t it to your interest to promote this love affair?” “Didn’t you tell Lord Courtenay last night who she was?” “I kept it a secret for—for reasons.” “Lord Courtenay is a man of honour. When he learns the truth his love will cease.” “Just so, and therefore we must not let him know the truth, till—till it be too late.” “You talk foolishly. How can he be kept any longer in ignorance?” Beauvais smiled mysteriously and triumphantly. “My dear Baroness, everything is working beautifully for our ends, so beautifully that I am tempted almost to think that Providence——” “Providence!” she repeated significantly. “I’ll say fate, to please you. Fate must have had a hand in bringing her and Lord Courtenay under this roof.” “You are not answering my question. How can we keep him from learning her name, if she chooses to reveal it?”