And Marrion went on with the story. It was like a dream to be sitting there in the streaming sunlight heart to heart as it were with someone of whose very existence she had been unaware but one short half-hour before. "Was he a commoner or noble?" asked the old princess quickly, when Marrion mentioned her marriage. "He had no title then," began the latter. The old fingers tightened their curiously protecting clasp. "Then you are still Princess Pauloffski! I am glad," was interrupted with satisfaction. "We of this house do not change our names when we marry beneath us, as I did; for, my dear, this, the soil"--she waved her other hand in an all-embracing gesture--"was my father's, and my father's father's. My husband was a good kind man. I loved him--but---- Go on, child." And Marrion went on. "Now, God be praised!--God in His High Heaven be praised!" cried the old Princess exultantly. "And you here--braving the cold, spending your life!" She seized a little brazen bell that lay on the table beside her and rang it violently. A very old maid-servant appeared, and was addressed volubly in patois. But that many orders were given Marrion judged by the frequent bob curtsey of the domestic who finally trotted out in great haste. "Not one word more, darling!" cried the old woman, forgetful of everything save abounding sympathy. "Quick, to the fire! Toast your feet--so! Lean back on the cushions! Make yourself quite comfortable. Remember you have to think of someone besides yourself." She dragged an armchair closer to the hearth with all the strength of youth. She bustled the cushions to shape; she removed Marrion's hat and finally kissed her softly on the forehead with a murmured, "God bless you both!" It was too much. Marrion dissolved into slow quiet tears. For the first time since Doctor Forsyth had told her why she must go home she felt really that she was blessed amongst women--yea, amongst women like this one! "But you don't know!" she half sobbed. "You haven't looked to see. I may be an impostor." "Not with that face, dearie," beamed the old Princess. "Cry on! The tears will warm your heart. It has been cold, I expect, and little ones don't thrive when the heart above them is cold. Ah, here comes Magda with the posset!" And Marrion drank something hot and spicy and delicious while the mistress discoursed to the old serving-maid and the old serving-maid finally fell at Marrion's feet and positively worshipped her. It was all so bewildering, so unexpected, that Marrion just lay back and let the slow tears trickle down her cheeks in quiet orderly fashion. The puzzledom, the regrets of the last few months, seemed to vanish. For a while, in stress of these new emotions, she forgot even her grief for Duke.