As Pauline was about to leave the entrance-hall, the double doors leading from the street suddenly opened, and in walked her father, the Citoyen Henrion, Ambassador of the Republic. He was a man close upon his sixtieth year, with silver hair and a dignified presence. His countenance expressed mildness and amiability, rather than force of character or diplomatic subtlety; in truth, his appointment was due more to his polished manners than to anything else. The _parvenu_ ambassadors of the Republic had often, from lack of dignity and ignorance of etiquette, excited the sneers and laughter of foreign courts. The Marquis de Vaucluse was sent to St. Petersburg to show that the race of gentlemen was not extinct in France, and that the new government could count among its sons men distinguished both by birth and manners. He conscientiously strove to do his duty to the Republic, and when reproached for relinquishing the traditions of his order, he was wont to say, “I serve France, not Napoleon: a nation, and not a government.” There was at this moment a cloud on his brow, and Pauline perceived its cause in the shape of Lieutenant Voronetz, who, with a very lugubrious face, followed hard upon the heels of the Ambassador. “This may be fun to you, Baroness,” he remarked, “but it means death to me.” “And, naturally, you don’t want to die,” answered Pauline. “But, then, neither does Lord Courtenay.” “So the story this lieutenant tells me is true?” said the Ambassador, looking in perplexity from one to the other. “Quite true, _mon père_.” “Where is the man?” said the Marquis, casting a look around. “Probably at this moment admiring the Gobelins in the Porphyry Suite, where he must abide till this storm be blown over.” “You have lodged him in the suite kept only for our illustrious visitors!” “Well, he’s an illustrious visitor. Comes of one of the oldest families in Europe. Counts the Greek emperors among his ancestors. Can Napoleon say as much?” “He must be surrendered to Lieutenant Voronetz.” “He shall _not_ be surrendered,” said Pauline firmly. The Marquis grew uneasy. When his daughter assumed that look and that tone, he knew full well that she would have her way in spite of him. Has he been the only man to be ruled by his daughter? “Why did you do this thing?” he asked, smiting his gloves together in a helpless fashion. “To teach a tyrant that liberty is not yet dead in St. Petersburg.” The Marquis gave her a glance intended as a caution not to speak too freely in the presence of the Czar’s lieutenant. Then, after a moment’s pause, he drew her aside out of the hearing of Voronetz.