It was sweet to have such power over him; a source of pride to her that she should be preferred to all others. It was wonderful, for example, that he had not fallen in love with the beautiful Pauline, but it was certain that he had not. In his eyes Pauline was a friend—the dearest, staunchest friend, it might be—but still no more than that. At least, that is what Marie usually thought, but, once or twice, when she was sitting close to Wilfrid, Pauline had drawn near, in her eyes a wistful look, as if yearning for the affection that was being bestowed upon another. One day when Wilfrid was in the armoury teaching Beauvais some secrets in swordsmanship, Marie ventured to question the Baroness on this matter. And she came to the point without any skirmishing. “Pauline, do you love Lord Courtenay?” The Baroness gave a start. “Have I ever shown that I do?” “No,” answered Marie, not altogether truthfully. “Then why should you ask?” “Because,” said Marie evasively, “Lord Courtenay is so brave, so handsome, so—so winning—that’s the word—that—that——” “It is difficult for woman to avoid falling in love with him. Is that what you would say?” smiled Pauline. “Well, you see, it would be foolish to love one that does not love me.” “Ah, but you are not answering my question!” “Would it please you if my answer were, ‘I do love him?’” Marie coloured and was silent. “Ah! you are not answering _my_ question,” smiled Pauline. And then after a pause she continued:— “Lord Courtenay is never likely to ask me to be his wife, but if he were to ask, my answer would be, ‘No.’” She spoke in a tone that carried instant conviction to Marie’s heart. “Why?” she asked simply. “Because I have promised myself to another.” This was indeed a surprise to Marie—a welcome one, as her looks testified. Pauline was not her rival, then. “I am willing,” said Pauline, “to tell you his name, on one condition.” “And that is——?” “That you will keep it a secret, especially from Lord Courtenay.” Marie thought it hard that Wilfrid must not be permitted to share this new knowledge with her. “I should not tell the name, even to you,” continued Pauline, “but that it will prove beyond a doubt that I am not aiming at the affections of Lord Courtenay.” This remark decided Marie; she consented to observe secrecy as to the name. “Learn, then, that I am pledged to marry the Czar Alexander!” If Pauline had said that she was pledged to marry the Archangel Gabriel, Marie could not have been more startled. Her bewilderment was at first too great for words. The fact that Pauline was not of royal blood did not make her statement doubtful, for had not the great Peter mated with a peasant girl? But—but—— “How can that be, when the Czar is already married?” “An emperor can always find an archbishop willing to pronounce sentence of divorce.” Marie, unconsciously perhaps, drew away from the speaker.