“Gentlemen,” he said, taking a seat between them, “that the Empress has been spending a month of religious seclusion in the Convent of the Ascension, a story I have hitherto believed, is evidently untrue. You, I think, can clear up this mystery. As you shall see by-and-by, I do not ask this from idle curiosity.” Thereupon Wilfrid frankly told the whole story of his dealings with the Czarina, beginning with Baranoff’s offer at Berlin, and ending with the events of that very night, Ouvaroff confirming him in such parts as he was able. When Wilfrid had finished, Sumaroff rose to his feet. “Pardon my absence for a few minutes. When I return I shall have a pleasant surprise for you.” Wilfrid and Ouvaroff resumed their interrupted talk. “And your suspicion of me——?” said Wilfrid. “Was the prompting of Baranoff. Long before I met you at Berlin he had assured me that the Czarina, the Grand Duchess Elizavetta she was then, had a secret lover in some Englishman. He refrained from giving the name, however, till the night of that ball. ‘To-night,’ said he, ‘I will point out to you the favourite of the Grand Duchess.’” “And he did it,” said Wilfrid, “by writing my name upon a card and sending it to you as we sat together. And you could believe him! Serge, my boy——” Wilfrid stopped on seeing the Prince enter, leading by the hand a girl who seemed reluctant to come forward. It was Nadia of the Silver Birch, as pretty as ever, but deadly pale and so timid that after one glance at Wilfrid she averted her eyes, and did not look at him again. “Now, Nadia, tell your tale,” said Prince Sumaroff. “It is the only way to set matters right.”