Princess Sumaroff drew forth a gold ring, set with amethysts, and gave it to Wilfrid. “Yours. I took it last night from the Czarina’s finger while she slept. She might have been asking awkward questions about it, and it will be better for her to remain in ignorance. Now, why not bestow this ring upon the Baroness? She loves you,—not that she has ever said so—at least to me. I judge by the warmth with which she speaks of your bravery, your honour, your good looks, your accomplishments, your heaven-knows what. It is my firm belief that you are the cause of her refusing an empress’s crown when it was within her grasp. Don’t let her make the sacrifice in vain. The Baroness is walking in the gardens at this moment, miserable because she thinks she has lost your good opinion. Seek her, and on your return let us have the pleasure of greeting her as the future Countess Courtenay.” Wilfrid, his heart beating with pleasurable sensations, walked out into those gardens which four weeks before had been the scene of so much mystery and romance. He found Pauline alone, walking on the terrace that overlooked the river. Her face, sad and pensive, brightened at his approach; and still more when she learned the result of his final interview with the Czarina. “That is good,” she murmured. Side by side the two slowly paced the terrace in silence. Wilfrid was thinking of the words spoken by Princess Sumaroff, Pauline of Wilfrid’s coming departure. He had told her of his intention to leave Russia within a few days; she received the news with a strange sinking of heart. How desolate her future if deprived of his presence! Yet what had she done to deserve his companionship? Nothing! but much to forfeit it; and yet, if the true working of her mind could be known to him, he would see that she was not _quite_ so bad as he perhaps thought her. “And you have no word of reproach for me?” she said gently. “It was wrong of you, but I am willing to forgive you on one condition.” She looked at him, uneasy in mind as to what his next words would be. “The condition is that you consent to be Countess Courtenay.” Greatly daring, he put his left arm around her, and, taking her left hand within his right, drew her towards him. He had need to hold her: but for his strong grasp she would have fallen to the ground in sheer amazement at words so unexpected. Recovering somewhat, she strove to put aside his arms, saying many times over, what she sincerely believed, that she was not worthy of him. “Do you _really_ love me?” she said at last, raising to him eyes in which tears were glittering. “You are the dearest woman in the world to me—now,” he replied, encircling her finger with a ring that had once adorned the hand of an empress. “It would not be true to say that you are my first love, but then, perhaps,” he added, thinking of Alexander, “neither am I yours.” But Pauline repudiated this with warmth. “I have never loved any one but you.”