“But when he demands his prisoner in the morning—what then?” “Why, then, it will be advisable for you, the Governor of the Citadel, to take upon yourself to affirm that the prisoner died during the night.” De Vaucluse, being a diplomat, had no more scruple in suggesting a lie to Baranoff than Baranoff, in other circumstances, would have had in adopting it. “It seems to me, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur,” said the Count loftily, “that you are neglecting the safest way out of the difficulty.” “And that is——?” “To surrender the person of Lord Courtenay to be taken to the Petropaulovski Fortress in accordance with the Czar’s wish.” “I should be most happy to meet your suggestion, dear Count, were it not for one little circumstance.” “Ah!” “I have pledged my word of honour to Lord Courtenay that I would not surrender him.” The Ambassador’s manner plainly showed that he meant what he said, and that further arguments directed against his decision would be so much wasted breath. “Of course Monsieur l’Ambassadeur would not talk thus unless he were sure that his action will have the approval of the First Consul?” Baranoff’s smile was not that of a friend. It was a sudden revelation to the Marquis, showing how sinister the Count could be when crossed in his purpose. “You will mention this matter in your next despatch to him, eh?” “This man means mischief,” thought De Vaucluse. “He will take care that General Bonaparte hears of this matter. And then——?” The Ambassador did not like to think of the “then.” Never before in his diplomatic career had he been in such a strait as the present, and all due to that wayward Pauline! He glanced somewhat darkly at his daughter, little thinking that at that moment she had far greater grounds for uneasiness than he had. “General, you are drunk!” had been her frank utterance to Benningsen as soon as she had found opportunity to converse with him privately. “Heigh-ho! I wish I were,” replied the warrior. “You must be, or you would never, in the presence of Baranoff, have drunk to the powers that will be.” “Pooh! what matters?” “Much. He’ll be guessing our secret. He’s mean enough to report your words to Paul. Do you want to be sent into exile a second time?” “It’s a case of exile for all patriots, I’m thinking. I leave the city to-night. By the waters of Finland I’ll sit down and weep when I remember thee, O Petropolis, for I shall have to leave all behind me, including my villa at Oranienbaum. I’m glad it isn’t paid for.” “Speak more clearly, General,” said Pauline looking startled. “Humph, haven’t I spoken clearly enough? Cannot you guess why little Sasha has been put under arrest?” She understood clearly now, and drew a deep breath, born of fear. “Paul has discovered——?” “I fear so.” There followed a significant silence, during which both sat looking at each other. “Who has betrayed us?” she said at last.