She was silent for a few minutes, pondering her mental state, which was not only inexplicable to her, but also to Beauvais, the student of psychology. For, observe the contradictory nature of the case: her struggle in the water had formed a dividing-line in her history; over this dividing-line she was able to bring into her new life all, or most, of the knowledge acquired in the old, and yet she was unable to bring with it the knowledge of her own personality. Why her mind, able to retain so much of the past, should become an absolute blank upon one point—there was the mystery that humbled, nay, frightened her. Better for her to lose, say, her knowledge of languages or of music, than to lose the knowledge of herself. A gulf seemed to separate her from her three companions; they could carry _their_ minds back to childhood’s days; for her life began with that morning only. Her previous history lay hidden behind a black curtain. A native from the planet Mars, new-dropped upon the earth, could not have felt less at home than did Princess Marie at that moment. “What is this that has come upon me?” she murmured with fear in her voice. “If I lose my memory, what is to prevent me from losing my reason?” “Now you are distressing yourself unnecessarily,” said the doctor, cheerily. “Why did I ply you this morning with so many questions upon this, that and the other topic, but to ascertain whether there is any ground for what you fear. And the result? My dear lady, if all the heads in the Czar’s cabinet were half as sound as yours, Russia would be well governed. Your mind is perfectly sane, have no fear upon that point. As to your loss of memory—humph! I’ll call it a misfortune, to please you. But there are many persons, Prince Ouvaroff for example, who would be glad to obtain an oblivion as complete as yours. Patience, my good lady, patience. Time will restore your memory.” These optimistic remarks, and many more of the same sort from Beauvais, combined with Pauline’s caresses, gradually brought the distressed Princess to a calmer state. “I am justly punished,” she said with a sad smile, addressing Wilfrid. “I have so long kept my name a secret from you that it is now a secret from myself. And you say I was found last night lying insensible upon the shores of this island? How did I come there?” Pauline and the doctor could both have answered this question more fully than Wilfrid, but for reasons of their own they chose to be silent, leaving him to tell as much as he knew of the matter. To his story Marie listened with a troubled air. “Have I enemies so malignant that they seek to murder me?” “It would seem so,” replied Wilfrid, adding for her consolation, “but since they must now look upon you as dead they will molest you no more.”