They emerged from the wood to the open space surrounding the castle, from whose windows twinkled numerous lights, more numerous than usual, Wilfrid thought. Upon entering the castle they soon learned the cause. A very distinguished visitor was beneath its roof. The Czar had paid the Baroness Runö the high honour of an unpremeditated visit, and was now holding converse with her in an apartment that, from the colour of its upholstery, was known as the Blue Chamber, while in the entrance hall his equerries Princes Ouvaroff and Volkonski were discussing some excellent wines with Dr. Beauvais. Wilfrid was one of the very few men who are not dazzled by titles, a sentiment arising, perhaps, from a magnificent faith in his own lineage. “The Czar!” he whispered to Marie. “The very gentleman I am wanting to see, since he can explain who you are. You do not fear to face him?” “Not if you are with me.” As it would be contrary to Court etiquette to enter the Czar’s presence unbidden, or to send a message into the Blue Chamber while he was conversing with the Baroness, Wilfrid’s plan was to wait till that interview was over, and then, when the Czar should return along the grand corridor to the castle entrance, step forward and ask for the favour of a few words. “And then,” he remarked in philosophic vein, “we shall see what we shall see.” With a view to keeping an eye upon departing majesty Wilfrid chose as his place of vigil a chamber whose door opened upon the corridor. Among other ornaments decorating the walls of this chamber were several sabres. Carefully inspecting these he selected one, and girded it at his side, while Marie tremblingly asked his reason for this act. “One may as well be prepared for emergencies,” he smiled. Beneath the mask of his light and careless air Marie could see that he apprehended there might be danger, and she began to realise more vividly the nature of the coming ordeal. What if the Czar, on seeing the man who had mocked him by not appearing at the rendezvous, should order his attendants or Pauline’s to arrest Wilfrid? Wilfrid, she well knew, would fight for his liberty against any odds. Or supposing the Czar should be tempted to renew his duelling proposal, what could Wilfrid do but respond to the challenge? Or what, too, if the Czar, in the exercise of his legitimate authority, should insist upon her returning with him to St. Petersburg? Wilfrid, true to the promise she had exacted from him, would endeavour to prevent this; but what could his single sword achieve against the power of the Czar? Her lively imagination began to picture scenes of altercation and fighting, of bloodshed and death. Let the mystery of her origin remained unsolved for ever if its attempted solution must bring danger upon the head of Wilfrid. Her quick changing colour, the trembling of her hand within his, spoke eloquently of her fears.