On seeing the two entering, Wilfrid thought that the Czar’s visit was over, and that Pauline was conducting him through this apartment as being the shortest way out of the castle. He was wrong. The two had come to this apartment for a private talk, for the Czar, having led Pauline to an ottoman, took his place beside her. This was a development which Wilfrid had not anticipated. To continue longer in concealment would be to play the spy, yet remain there he must, on Marie’s account, since there was no way of quitting the alcove except by revealing himself. At first, with an odd sense of preserving his honour, Wilfrid tried not to listen, endeavouring to fix his attention on other matters. But the attempt was a failure; against his wish he was attracted by the words of the speakers, and as the dialogue grew, so, too, did his interest. “You were praying in the oratory,” said Alexander to Pauline. “Did _my_ name mingle with your prayers?” “Yes, Sire,” answered Pauline gravely. “I prayed for you more earnestly than ever I prayed before.” The melancholy, seldom absent from the Czar’s face since his father’s death, brightened into a smile. “And what was the petition on my behalf?” “That your Majesty might have a right judgment,” replied Pauline with a meaning plain enough to Wilfrid, though not to the Czar. “‘Sire!’ ‘Majesty!’” repeated Alexander, with what in a woman would be called a pout. “Leave this formal style to ministers and courtiers. With you I am Sasha. Ah! shall I ever forget the night when first you called me by that name? Never did it sound so pretty as when coming from your lips! And you said that your name to me must be no more Baroness but Pauline. Do you remember?” “I remember,” she answered with a sigh. Becoming conscious of this restraint in her manner, Alexander eyed her wistfully, failing, however, to divine the reason for her altered demeanour. He was not much more than a youth and a somewhat simple-minded one to boot, but he had a high sense of his sovereignty, and it never occurred to him that the gallantries of an emperor could be other than acceptable to the object of them. “Pauline, how beautiful you are!” he murmured after a moment’s silence. Time was when she would have thrilled at such language. But to-night his words had lost their old charm. “Your Majesty must not speak thus.” “‘Majesty’ again? But I let it pass. Why must I refrain from speaking the truth?” “You must reserve such language for Elizavetta only.” “Elizavetta!” said Alexander, his face darkening with a noble but mistaken scorn. “Elizavetta! A wife who from her wedding-day never loved her husband.” “I think your Majesty is wrong.”