Her face was the face of the beautiful portrait on the wall, grown twice as old, but with the lines of beauty still clear under the unnecessary touches of rouge, so that sometimes, despite her frosted hair, one could imagine her life at its spring-tide. This was especially so when the sunshine leapt into her eyes. But, at her oldest, there remained to her the dignity of the Princess born, the charm of the woman of virile intellect and vast social experience. "Something is troubling you," she said. He smiled reassuringly. "My brother-in-law popped in from Prague. He read me a sermon." "That would not trouble you, Ferdinand." Lassalle was silent. "You have heard again from that Sophie de Solutzew!" "Divinatrix! After three years! You are wonderful as ever, Countess." The compliment did not lighten her features. They looked haggard, almost their real age. "It is not the moment for petticoats--with the chance of your life before you and months of imprisonment hanging over your head." "Oh, I am certain my appeal will get me off with a fine at most. You must remember, Countess, that only once in my life, despite incessant snares, have the fowlers really caged me. And even then I was let out every time I had to plead in one of your cases. It was quite illegal," and he laughed at the recollection of the many miracles his eloquence, now insinuating, now menacing, had achieved. "Yes, you are marvellous." "I marvel at myself." "Let me see your new 'Open Sesame.' Is it ready?" "No, no, Sophie," he said banteringly. "You know you mean you want to see your namesake's letter." "That is not my concern." "O Countess!" He tendered the letter. "Hum," she said, casting a rapid eye over it. "Then you wrote her first." "Only because the letter was wanted for the new edition of Heine, and I had no copy of it.". "But I have a copy." "You? Where?" "In my heart, _mon cher enfant_. Why should I not remember the great poet's words? 'Dearest brother-in-arms--Never have I found in any other but you so much passion united with so much clairvoyance in action. You have truly the divine right of autocracy. I only feel a humble fly....'" She paused and smiled at him. "You see." "Perfect," cried Lassalle, who had been listening complacently. "But it's not that letter. The letter of introduction he gave me to Varnhagen von Ense when I was a boy of twenty--in the year we met." "How should I not remember that? Was it not the first you showed me?" A sigh escaped her. In that year when he had won her love, she had been just twice as old as he. Now, despite arithmetic, she felt three times his age. "I will dictate it to you," she went on; "and you can send it to the publisher and be done with it." "My rare Countess, my more than mother," he said, touched, "that you should have carried all that in your dear, wise head."