Jane was roused by a wild shriek from without. She thought at first it was an animal in an agony of pain or rage. The wind had closed the door, and she could not open it. She went round by a passage to reach the lawn. While she had been in the hall a scene fit for a melodrama was in progress without. The tiny black Russian landaulet with three ponies abreast which Madame Trebizoff usually drove stood a few paces back near the woods. In the centre of the open space, in the full light both of the moon and the lights from the house, stood the princess, black lace draping her tragically, rubies flaming in her jetty hair, and a blood-red poppy in her breast. She was turning from one group of men to another like a hunted animal: her voice, once let loose from the thin smooth level on which she held it, squeaked and chattered, and then fell into doglike growls and sobs. Mrs. Wilde stood between her and a burly man in gray. "I assure you, sir, that there is no Madame Varens here. This is an English lady and my guest. _My_ guest! You know who I am--Mrs. John Schuyler Wilde." "Very sorry, Mrs. Wilde, to annoy you, or these ladies," turning to the group of frightened girls to whom the princess had flown for succor. She looked back from their midst like a furious crow from out of a covey of white doves. "I won't swear that her name's Varens. She's down in the description also as Mrs. Swift and Aurelia Lamb. Regular confidence-woman, madam. I didn't want to follow her in here. Nobody respects ladies as are ladies more than I do. Now, ma'am," turning to Charlotte, "you'd better come quietly. It's nothing serious. A few hundreds. Small operation for _you_. Not worth disturbing people of this class," nodding back over his right ear as he caught her by the arm. "Class! What do you mean? This is _my_ class!" shaking him back as if he had been a snake and tapping her breast as she lifted herself to her tiptoes. "_My_ class! Do you hear? I am the Princess Trebizoff. I have witnesses.--Mr. Van Ness! Mr. Van Ness is here to speak for me." "Pliny Van Ness?" said the awed detective. "If _he_ vouches for you, ma'am--" Mr. Van Ness, who had watched the arrest with much placidity, was suddenly left by the withdrawal of the crowd standing alone facing the detective and his prisoner. He stroked his blond beard and looked down at her with thoughtful compassion. "Mr. Van Ness," she said shrilly, advancing a step, "I am in danger of a jail. Certify for me that I am--your friend, the woman whom I represent myself to be." "Of course any friend of yours, Mr. Van Ness--I may be mistaken," interjected the officer. "I am very sorry, officer," said the reformer, his mellow tones full of pain. "But this lady--" "Do you refuse?" she shrieked. Then springing up to him and thrusting her face in his, she whispered, "For Ted's sake! I am your child's mother! If he should find me in jail!"