"Ah, pardon Madame--they did not tell me you had returned until just now. And Mademoiselle charged me to deliver it to you with my own hands." The Countess motioned him away. Had she been indiscreet to take Sir Paul so quickly into her confidence? It was still not too late, probably, for a messenger to catch him at the _Hotel du Rhin_ before he left. He was too much a gentleman, she knew, not to consider as unsaid the information she had given him, if she asked it of him. "_Pouf_!" she exclaimed, with a shrug. "This is but the whim of a girl who does not know her own mind. Come--I will be a consistent fatalist. The affair is out of my hands. After all, it is just what I have long wished--though I never dreamed for such good fortune as that it would be Sir Paul Verdayne. She'll simply have to forgive me"--and the Countess smilingly hummed an old Dalmatian love-song as she left the room. Meanwhile, Paul paced the floor of his sitting-room impatiently while Baxter packed his luggage. A strange exultation moved him, and he dreamt of joy and love. To him, his dreams were more than mere bubbles--before his eyes lay all the glory of the earth, and a whole Heaven besides. Ah! if the good god-mother could only have endowed him with seven-leagued boots! He could scarcely wait for the long journey to be finished. And it had not yet begun. "Hurry, Baxter!" he called, as he looked again at his watch. And Baxter, thinking of the pretty _femme de chambre_, once more was tempted to give notice. CHAPTER XVIII On and on, during long days and restless nights, our Don Quixote journeyed--for was not Paul like that noble knight, endeavouring to recall a long dead past unto life? After all, there was only one Dulcinea del Tobosa--and she was still, and ever would be, the most beautiful woman in the world. One morning, at length, Paul awakened from a troublous sleep. The train had stopped, and looking out of the window in the early mist he saw some strange figures standing by the side of the track--bearded men, mostly, with brilliant scarlet shirts, and trousers tucked into huge clumsy boots--some of them half-covered with long white aprons. He recognized these gentry as customs officials and porters. At last he had reached the Russian frontier! He dressed quickly, eager, for the first time in his life, to have his baggage examined and his passports inspected. Usually Paul regarded such performances as a violation of the Heaven-sent rights of an Englishman to wander unmolested over the face of the earth. But now--once the ceremony was over--it meant that he was one step nearer the goal.