“I thought they would come to you,” said Dr. Foster, a short, stout little man, his eyes twinkling. “Curious fellow, that count, isn’t he? I can’t make him out. Means well, though, I daresay. A sort of cousin of the prince’s, I understand. You know all about the family, don’t you? No? Well, the Andriocchis are one of the most ancient Italian families. He came into everything a couple of years ago, at his father’s death. He is only six-and-twenty, though he looks older. I saw him here the first season. He got into a fast set, and did no good. Last year his family married him. Families in those countries always sort the young folks and couple them, you know. Wonderful match—a great beauty—daughter of one of those awfully blue-blooded Spanish grandees, Duke de Saldanhés, great favourite at Court. She’s a charming woman, but——” Dr. Foster shook his head, and looked whole volumes of wisdom. “But?” asked Hugh, suddenly interested and sorry. He did not know why. “Well, perhaps you’ll find out. She baffled me; that’s all I know. First I thought there might be a suicidal tendency, or simple melancholia. Soon gave up that idea—one of the keenest-witted women I ever met. She gives you one look out of those lamps of eyes of hers, and tots you up pretty correctly, I can tell you. No, no! She’s as sane as you or I—saner perhaps, if the truth were known! But there’s something wrong somewhere. Whether it’s fretting, or remorse—well, it’s no use speculating. My opinion is this—she’s wretchedly ill; and before she can get any better, the cause of it must be got at, and treated. Perhaps you’ll do it. B—— S—— seems to have failed, and I confess myself nowhere.” Dr. Paull felt less distaste for his task after this interview with his colleague: in fact, his professional interest was awakened; and when three, then four days passed without his being summoned by the prince, his surprise was flavoured with something akin to a feeling of disappointment. On the fifth day, when he was snatching a hasty breakfast, the prince’s brougham drove up to the door, and the count alighted alone, and sent in a message—might he see the doctor for one minute? “Show him in here,” said Hugh. Accordingly the count entered, apologising for his intrusion. “It was necessaire that I find you early, docteur,” he said. “An opportunity comes that you see madame la princesse to-night. She has consented to visit the Covent Theatre, to see the new opera.” “But, excuse me, I do not understand,” said Dr. Paull, somewhat dryly. “I do not go to theatres and operas. I have no time, still less should I go there to see patients.” The count explained, almost pathetically, that the prince had naturally feared that this was the case. “And, in anticipation of your refusal, monsieur, I just paid visit to the Lady Forwood, to ask her to join in our appeal.”