“And now, on his way back to St. Petersburg, he tarries at Berlin in the hope of persuading the Prussian King to join the league against England.” “Humph! Is he likely to succeed?” “There’s no telling. He has had two interviews with the King. Frederick William is an amiable, weak-minded man. Were it not that Queen Louisa insists upon being present at these interviews, Baranoff might have carried his point. He is to have a final interview on the fourth day from this, and—mark this significant point—the Queen knows nothing of this intended meeting.” “And Prince Ouvaroff as a Muscovite patriot,” smiled Wilfrid, “hopes that Baranoff will gain his ends?” “By no means,” responded the other quickly. “Personally, I am opposed to the war, and—but let this be kept secret—so is the Czarovitch. Why should we give an opportunity to your Nelson to earn fresh laurels at Russia’s expense? But a truce to politics—I shall be letting out more than I ought,” he continued with a laugh, and then, by way of changing the subject, he added— “You are not married yet?” “No, nor likely to be. Waiting for the promised princess,” said Wilfrid mockingly. “But you—? What of the lady you loved five years ago?” “I love her still,” replied the Prince moodily. “She remains unwed?” “So far. But she is ice to me.” “Take heart. The Neva is not always frozen. That she does not marry should encourage you to continue your suit.” “Give me your face and figure and I might succeed. Is it likely that she, confessedly the most beautiful woman in Moscow, will marry an ugly fellow like me?” “What have looks to do with love? What says your own Russian proverb: ‘I do not love thee because thou art pretty, but thou art pretty because I love thee.’” These words failed to arouse Ouvaroff. “I have discovered of late that I have a rival, and a successful one. There is peril in aspiring to her hand.” Before Wilfrid had time to ask the meaning of these mysterious words a liveried attendant approached, carrying a silver salver, upon which lay a sealed envelope. This with a bow he presented to the Prince, who, upon opening it, found therein a card inscribed with the words:— “_He who now speaks with you is the man._ ARCADIUS BARANOFF.” CHAPTER II BARANOFF’S PROPOSAL For a moment Ouvaroff fastened his gaze upon the card which he so held as to be seen by none but himself; then, raising his eyes, he looked at Wilfrid. There was a sudden coldness in the Prince’s demeanour, and Wilfrid intuitively felt that the writing on the card had something to do with it. “The next dance is a Hungarian waltz, I perceive,” said Ouvaroff in a changed voice. “I am reminded by this card that a lady is waiting for me. Excuse my absence for a few minutes. I am so ugly, you see,” he added with an uneasy smile, “that when I _do_ obtain the favour of a dance I cannot afford to miss it.”