Attired in a dainty sarafan of soft muslin, supplied from Pauline’s wardrobe, she was reclining in a deep _fauteuil_ with the Baroness by her side. Although she had occupied so large a space in his mind Wilfrid had seen her but four times, and, by a singular coincidence, at night only. Her beauty underwent no diminution by day; on the contrary it seemed to be enhanced by the soft morning light. Her delicate pallor was the only evidence of her recent grapple with death. It was the same Marie, and yet different. The pensive melancholy hitherto marking her aspect had vanished; a new and happier light glanced from her eyes; the passing of her memory seemed to have brought with it the passing of sorrow. As Wilfrid recalled the bitter language which the Princess had applied to Pauline, it was with a somewhat odd feeling that he now beheld the two conversing with the familiarity of old friends. It was difficult to believe that the sudden return of the Princess’s memory would be accompanied by hostility to Pauline again. A slight movement on his part caused the Princess to lift her head and look at him. It was with a sense of disappointment that Wilfrid met her calm, quiet gaze. He had been fondly hoping that whomsoever else she might have forgotten she could not have forgotten _him_. But alas! her dark blue eyes betrayed no sign of recognition; their expression was simply one of curiosity to know who he was. Her manner differed in nothing from that of a woman meeting with a stranger, a manner that Wilfrid felt to be genuine on her part, and not assumed. “This is the Lord Courtenay of whom I have been speaking,” said Pauline. Wilfrid bowed gravely. That he should need an introduction to her! “I am sorry,” smiled the Princess, “at having to meet you in the present circumstances. You must think me a very stupid person not to be able to recall my name and history; yet so it is. Try as I will I cannot carry my memory farther back than this morning. That I awoke a few hours ago in a certain bedroom of this castle is all I know of myself. Unless I have dropped ready-made from the skies I must have lived for twenty years and more, and yet of this long time I can remember nothing! Is it not absurd?” So absurd that she broke out into a laugh; and one more sweet and silvery never rippled from woman’s lips, at least in Wilfrid’s opinion. “The Baroness has been telling me that you can perhaps help to revive my memory, as you have seen me amid other surroundings.” “You have been known to me as the Princess Marie.” “Yes, but on looking into the Court Register,” she answered, pointing to a book at her feet, “we cannot discover that there is a Princess Marie.” “Whose suggestion was the Court Register?” asked Beauvais, who had accompanied Wilfrid to the presence of the Princess. “Mine!” answered Marie.