Another circumstance, though in itself absurdly trifling, added to her annoyance. Hitherto, she had been accustomed to regard the Czarovitch as her ideal of a hero, handsome and brave, courteous and charming; and lo, here was an Englishman handsomer and braver—had he not, even at the risk of his life, refused to bow to a tyrant?—more courteous and more charming, and, above all, truth-speaking, the last epithet being _not_ always applicable to Alexander, as history can testify. She grew vexed with Wilfrid, as if it were a fault in him to be better than Alexander! This odd frame of mind prevented her from obtaining her usual amount of sleep; and when she arose in the morning she started at sight of the wan face and heavy eyes reflected in the mirror. Summoning her maid, Pauline proceeded to make her toilet, selecting her prettiest and daintiest attire; and never did Vera find her mistress more hard to please than on this particular morning. She was positively more critical of herself than on the day of her receiving the Czarovitch! On her way down stairs she chanced to meet one of her father’s oldest secretaries, who had been out for an early drive, and she stopped for a moment’s chat with him. They might have been in England; they talked of the weather! “A most remarkable thaw, this,” observed the secretary. “The oldest inhabitant of St. Petersburg cannot remember one so rapid.” “When did the change begin?” asked Pauline. “The thermometer began to go up a little before midnight, and has been going steadily up ever since. The Troitzkoi Bridge has been carried off by the moving ice.” “Then Count Baranoff, if he’s in his Citadel, will not be able to do any mischief this side of the Neva for some days to come.” “His isolation will not last long,” smiled the secretary. “In the opinion of experts, the river, before the lapse of many hours, will be passable for boats.” “Then we shall be having the ceremony of the Golden Goblet,” said Pauline to herself, as she continued her way down. “A quaint custom, which I would like Lord Courtenay to see; but here we are, debarred from going out.” Pauline moved onward and was passing through the entrance hall when she stopped short in surprise upon seeing Benningsen suddenly enter. He wore a somewhat haggard look, having, in fact, the jaded appearance of a man who has spent the night out of bed; and Pauline was quick to notice that, though his step had been steady enough on the previous evening, he now walked with a slight limp. “What! General,” she cried. “Not gone to Finland after all?” “Pahlen persuaded me to stay,” said Benningsen, with a smile that set Pauline’s heart bounding; for it was a smile that augured good things. “He and I, with a great many of the ministers, went to the Michaelhof last night to have that long-meditated interview with Paul.” “To get him to abdicate?” she said breathlessly. “Just so.” “How did he take the proposal?”