“Remain here,” said the Duchess, addressing her two attendants, and with that she moved forward towards Wilfrid. Her reason for keeping her attendants in the room was obvious. When a youthful duchess holds an interview with a man in the dead of night it is well to have a witness by to prove that such meeting is all that it should be. The Duchess’s first question was personal, and to the point. “Lord Courtenay, have you learned yet who I am?” “Am I wrong in concluding that you are a Grand Duchess?” She hesitated, an odd smile on her lips. “I was—once.” “Once? Yet your attendant has called you Highness!” “Alexis forgets that——” And then she stopped. “No matter. Call me by that title. ’Twill do as well as any other.” A duchess no longer! What did she mean? Had the jealous Alexander deprived her of the title conferred by Paul? _That_ he could do, but he could not take away her Imperial descent, nor the regal beauty that accompanied it. It was clear that, so far as Wilfrid was concerned, she wished still to remain _incognita_. “Were you,” said the Duchess—to call her still by that name—“were you expecting to see me to-night, when you accompanied Alexis?” “Presumptuous of me, perhaps,” smiled Wilfrid, “but I was not without hope that the summons _might_ have come from you.” It was with a certain touch of hauteur in her manner that the Duchess replied:— “Learn, then, that it was not _I_ who called you to this meeting.”—Wilfrid’s hopes fell.—“Not till an hour ago was it told me that you had been sent for.” Wilfrid’s hopes rose. Her coming to see him immediately on hearing of his arrival was proof that she took _some_ interest in his fate. “Is it likely,” she continued gravely, and speaking more as if to herself than to him, “that I should invite you to a meeting like this, when death would be your lot should you be seen here by my enemies?” Her enemies? Wilfrid wished he could have them all in line and fight with them, one by one, from sunrise to sunset, with due intervals for rest and refreshment. He’d have left none alive! “Then, since you did not send for me, will your Highness condescend to tell me who did?” “The Empress.” “Elizavetta?” asked Wilfrid, naming the youthful wife of Alexander. “No, Paul’s widow. The Dowager Empress, I should have said. She was desirous of seeing you in person, but circumstances preventing her, I act as her ambassadress.” Wilfrid breathed a silent benison on the head of the ex-Czarina for her choice of ambassadress. “And what is the will of the Empress with me?” “To do a work that—but your question will best be answered in that room,” replied the Duchess, pointing to the door of the mysterious chamber. “Countess, bring the light.” CHAPTER XV HOW PAUL DIED The lady addressed as countess came forward with the lamp, and the little party moved towards the ante-chamber—for such it was—Wilfrid himself opening the door.