“Her _coiffure_ shows it.” “What! has that old autocrat been dictating in what way ladies shall wear their hair?” “That is so, gospodin.” And here Nadia, twisting her long hair into a number of thick plaits, disposed them in ludicrous fashion around her head, saying with a smile, “This is Paul’s ideal _coiffure_, and this is how ladies must appear at Court. But we, who do not go to Court, may wear it as we please.” And with that she let her hair fall around her like a shower of golden threads, and pushing some aside, looked smilingly at Wilfrid. CHAPTER IV IN THE PRINCESS’S BED-CHAMBER A few more words passed and then Wilfrid, with a glance at his watch, opined that it was high time for him to go to bed. “Will you show the gospodin to his room, Nadia?” said the innkeeper. “He had better pull off those heavy boots first,” suggested the girl. And Wilfrid, knowing her reason, good-humouredly complied. “And you’ll not get up till after ten?” pleaded Boris. “The boyarine must not know that I have broken my word. And I must keep your yamchik out of the way till she has taken her departure.” “Very good. To please you I’ll prolong my slumbers,” assented Wilfrid, “though I confess I should like to have a peep at the fair boyarine.” And bidding the innkeeper “good-night,” Wilfrid followed Nadia, who led the way with lighted lamp. “Tread softly,” she said with a subdued laugh. “Don’t disturb the repose of the Ugly One, whatever you do. So savage-looking is he that he’ll think nothing of running you through the body with his long sword if he should be waked before his time.” Mindful more of the boyarine than of the Ugly One, Wilfrid stepped with noiseless tread. “Your room,” said Nadia, as they ascended a staircase, “is exactly over the boyarine’s bed-chamber, so you must move about as silently as a ghost.” Conversing thus in whispers she turned down the corridor that led from the second landing. “This is your room,” she said, pausing before a closed door. Wilfrid, taking the lamp from her hand, wished her “good night.” “The last Englishman parted from me very differently.” There was no mistaking the saucy invitation of her eye and lip. Pretty faces were made to be kissed, and Wilfrid did what any other sensible fellow would have done similarly situated, in which pleasing business the lamp became accidentally extinguished. “There now! You yourself must re-light it,” she said, thrusting a tinder-box into his hand. “I cannot stay longer,” and pushing him into the room, she closed the door upon him and hurried away. Wilfrid’s first act on finding himself alone was to lock the door, his practice always at a strange inn; his next, the room being in total darkness, was to obtain a light, a somewhat difficult feat, owing to the dampness of the rag in the tinder-box. Not till after the lapse of ten minutes did he succeed in producing a flame sufficient for the rekindling of the lamp.