The doctor tapped his forehead significantly at Wilfrid to intimate that, however defective her power of remembering might be, that of reasoning remained intact. Indeed, but for her own confession no one would ever have supposed that any faculty of her mind lay dormant. Princess Marie was now all eagerness to know on what occasions she and Wilfrid had met, a request that put him in a somewhat embarrassing situation. Was she to be told, for example, that he had once spent an hour in her bedroom?—that she had kissed him at their last meeting? and that she had always expressed enmity towards Pauline? He looked at Pauline for guidance, who in turn looked at the doctor, while the Princess herself looked from one to another, wondering why there should be such hesitation in telling her a plain story. “It will be as well,” said Beauvais, addressing Wilfrid, “to tell all you know, while the Princess follows you in mind, striving to recall the situations in which your story places her. Such effort will perhaps stimulate her memory.” So spoke the hypocrite, hoping that her efforts would do nothing of the sort. After a moment’s reflection Wilfrid proceeded to relate not all, but as much as he thought needful, for the Princess to know; and it was with a strange sensation of pleasure that he found her eyes fastened on him with a wistful attention, that never once wavered during his recital. Leaving out Baranoff and his infamous proposal Wilfrid began with the bedroom incident; then went on to tell how he had been requested by her to paint his now historic picture, saying nothing, however, as to the reward he had demanded; and coming finally to the masquerade, he led Marie to suppose that the meeting was merely a formal one on her part to thank him for his services. As for the Czar and his presumed aim towards her, Wilfrid suppressed this part of the story altogether. “How long ago is it since this fête in the Sumaroff Gardens?” she asked. “Only two nights ago.” “Only two nights ago!” she repeated with breathless incredulity. “And I have no recollection whatever of it!” She closed her eyes, knitted her brows thoughtfully, pressed her forefinger hard upon her forehead, evidently making a strong effort to recall the past, but could not succeed.