“’Tis a world of surprises,” said the General. “We might have spared ourselves the visit. Paul had already abdicated.” “You are jesting,” she said, angrily. “Fact!” smiled the General. “Abdicated in favour of Alexander.” “Why this graceful act on his part?” “Well, to be plainer——” Here Benningsen bent his head and whispered a short sentence. Pauline received it with a keen, cold, steady look that seemed somewhat to disconcert him. “A fortunate ending for us,” she remarked drily, “seeing the strait we were in. It matters little now who has found our lost document.” “The finder will be well advised to burn it,” said Benningsen. “Alexander won’t thank him for making it public.” “When is the event to be proclaimed?” “Within an hour from now. Alexander himself is to make the announcement from the balcony of the Winter Palace. The people are already gathering in the square.” “How? They know?” she asked, in some surprise. “They know nothing except that Alexander with his own lips is going to make public some great event. Hence, there is great excitement in the streets. The Foreign Ambassadors are already assembling at the Winter Palace. Where is Monsieur le Marquis? I must tell him the news. He must not be absent while others are tendering their congratulations to the new ruler.” “My faith! no,” returned Pauline. “_Mon père_ will be found in his study at this moment, inspecting his morning’s correspondence. Louis shall take you to him,” she added; and addressing a lackey she bade him conduct Benningsen to the Ambassador’s study. “But stay, General,” she continued, with a laugh that was not all a laugh, “what dreadful boots yours are, dropping mud and wet! Respect our carpets. You must leave those great Hessians behind you.” Benningsen stared oddly at her, hesitated for a moment, and then, perceiving that she was in earnest, he laughed, slipped out of his boots, and followed in the wake of the lackey. “He did not limp like that last night, though wearing the same boots,” thought Pauline, as she watched the General ascending the staircase. “It is the right foot that seems to be hurt.” As soon as Benningsen was out of sight, Pauline, much to the surprise of her maid, lifted one of the long boots and, for better inspection, held it up to the light. Her next act was more surprising still. Drawing forth her handkerchief, she carefully wiped from the heel its caking of mud and snow. And there, in the leather just above the heel, was a double row of perforations, obviously caused by something sharp that had penetrated the leather from without. “Vera,” said Pauline, with a strange look, “tell me what you think was the cause of these marks?”