“Now, remember,” cautioned Pauline, “that Lord Courtenay will require delicate handling, for he is patriotically proud and quick to take fire. If he should come to believe that his presence here, though personally agreeable to us, is from a political point of view embarrassing, he’ll make his _congé_ at once. As soon as he learned that this was the French Embassy, he was for walking out again, his honour forbidding him to take refuge here. He required some persuading to remain. So, _mon père_, be careful.” “Now, Heaven forbid,” said the Marquis, “that I should say aught to embarrass him.” And the Ambassador was as good as his word, for upon Wilfrid’s entering, he greeted him in a manner so courteous and affable that Wilfrid was at once placed at his ease. Pauline looked at her visitor with a smile that plainly said, “Did I not say my father would take your part?” “Monsieur l’Ambassadeur,” said Wilfrid, “our respective countries being at war, my position beneath the roof of the French Embassy is certainly a singular one.” “And for me a happy one,” replied the Marquis, with a bow. “Still, whatever the situation, it is not of your creating, but of Pauline’s. You are her guest and mine; and here you must remain till we have persuaded the Czar to see matters in another light.” After a few more words of gracious import, De Vaucluse, taking Voronetz with him, went off on his conciliatory errand, leaving his daughter to entertain the stranger. And a charming entertainer she made, quite fascinating Wilfrid with the vivacity and intelligence of her conversational powers. Part of the time was spent in showing her guest the various objects of interest contained in her boudoir, among them being a piece of silk embroidery wrought by her own hand and set as a picture in a silver frame. It represented a castle, quaint, yet pretty. “Castle Runö,” explained Pauline. “Built upon one of the islands of the Neva by Peter the Great, to satisfy a fancy of his wife, Catharine. I hope to have the honour of entertaining you there some day, for castle and island are both mine, my very own, inherited from my Russian mother. Its possession carries with it a title that makes me a baroness in my own right.” “Then you are half a Russian?” smiled Wilfrid. Though by her own showing this must be so, the Baroness nevertheless seemed to resent the idea. “No, indeed, I am wholly French, as I can soon prove. Vera, come here a moment,” she said, addressing her maid. The girl came forward, and at her mistress’s request knelt upon the hearth. “Vera is a pure Muscovite,” said the Baroness. “Now, look at her ear,” she continued, touching it caressingly. “You see it? Look at mine, and tell me the difference.” “Her ear has no lobe,” remarked Wilfrid, in some surprise. “True. Have you not noticed the like before?” asked Pauline. “No? O, unobservant man! Well, after this take due note, and you will find that every true-born Russ is without a lobe to his ear.”