“That son might develop the madness that may be dormant only, not extinguished, in Alexander. Such a fear would ever be present to the Empress. Picture her, in the long, slow course of months and years, hanging over her child, studying every look and every word of his, every mood and every act, watching and waiting for the fatal sign——” “That might never come,” interrupted Pauline, in her voice a touch of contempt, very unusual with her, at least when speaking to Wilfrid. “Quite so, but to a mother’s heart this suspense would be almost killing, and the Empress Elizavetta would do well to consider this point.” These words seemed to put Pauline in a state of uneasiness. “M. Beauvais,” said she, “there is a portrait, in feature and in expression faithful to the original. Can you, as a physician and disciple of Lavater, read insanity in that face?” “One cannot judge of a man’s sanity merely from seeing his portrait,” replied the doctor. “Let it suffice that Alexander, now in his twenty-fifth year, has so far shown not the faintest sign of a disordered intellect.” Marie was disposed to regard the Czar’s quixotic challenge to Wilfrid as a sign pointing in this direction, but perceiving the theme to be a distasteful one to Pauline she refrained from expressing her opinion. As they had now seen everything contained in the Hall of the Czars they withdrew. Marie could not resist the temptation of casting a backward glance at Alexander’s portrait, and observed that it seemed still to be following her with eyes of reproach; in fact, so strange an impression did this picture make upon her mind that she resolved for the future to keep out of the Hall of the Czars. CHAPTER XXVIII PAULINE REPENTS A month passed, during which Runö remained untroubled by visits from police or soldiery, nor did anything occur to create a suspicion that the isle was under espionage. This month had been a time of the purest happiness both to Marie and to Wilfrid. Their intercourse was not confined to the walls of the castle; they went out daily, keeping, for safety’s sake, to the woods and never venturing within sight of the shore. These walks were necessarily circumscribed, but, as Pauline remarked, they suffered far less hardship in that respect than the voyagers on the deck of an East Indiaman. The loss of her memory had ceased to trouble the Princess: nay, she was now apprehensive lest the revelation consequent upon its recovery should cause a return to her former life. With very little knowledge of that former life she had, nevertheless, a profound belief that it fell far short of her present happy state. At any rate it had been a life apart from Wilfrid, and Wilfrid was now the chief, if not the sole, object of her thoughts. It was no secret to her that she was loved by him, for though he had not said it, his homage showed his feelings as plainly as if he had spoken.