The door was thrown open, and she found herself in a small library, which appeared to form a kind of backwater for the two adjoining and equally over-crowded rooms. Nora sighed. There was no one in that moving stream whom she had not met before—the very sandwiches arranged in symmetrical order on the table under the window seemed to welcome her with the silent greeting of a long-established friendship. She knew their history so well. Had she not made them herself as many times as it had been her fate to give a so-called "evening"? As to the rest of the company, there was the usual sprinkling of elderly officers and their wives and an apparently limitless number of stray lieutenants who, commanded temporarily to Berlin, had been brought together by the natural law which unites exiles and outcasts. Her Excellency’s son himself belonged to a regiment stationed in a southern state—hence the familiar "clique" which crowded his mother’s rooms. Nora had seen enough to resign all hope before their hostess bore down upon them. The little old lady, who had been holding a veritable levee at the folding-doors, displayed all the naïve cordiality which belonged to her South German blood. "How good of you to come!" she exclaimed, taking Nora’s hand between both her own. "It is such a delightful evening—everybody is here, you know. And where is Herr von Arnim?" Nora looked down smiling into the alert but deeply lined face. In any other country Her Excellency von Gersdorf would have cut rather a ridiculous figure. She had once been a great beauty, and though there were but few traces left of her former splendour, she had still retained the long ringlets and the flowered brocades of her youth. These and other eccentricities—she had a passion for reciting her own and other people’s poetry on all possible and impossible occasions—were respectfully accepted by the mighty circle of her acquaintances. She was Her Excellency von Gersdorf, the widow of a high-standing Court official, and by birth a countess with sixteen untarnished quarterings; consequently at liberty to do, say, and dress exactly what and how she pleased, without exciting the slightest criticism. Nora knew all this; but in the brief pause between her hostess’s question and her own answer she found herself again wondering what her English friends would say—what Miles would say. "My husband sends his greetings and begs that your Excellency will excuse him," she answered. "He has some important work to-night and could not accompany me." Frau von Gersdorf nodded, whilst her bright, bird-like eyes wandered over her guests. "I know, I know; these General-Staff husbands are totally unreliable. But there, I dare say you will be able to amuse yourself without him. I think you must know everybody here?" "Everybody," Nora responded gravely.