Marguerite, turning away from her maid, who was about to unfasten her lace petticoat, took the boy in her arms and kissed him with the passion she could only indulge when certain of Piotr’s absence. She was in a hurry, for she was to meet Basil, Régis, and Pavlo the Greater, at her old favorite spot, the Carrefour of the Seven Sages, within the hour, and Ireland was already in the _Cour-d’honneur_ with her horse and his, waiting; but, happy to have her darling all to herself for once, she began to pace up and down with him, holding him close and tight and kissing his fat little neck again and again. Suddenly Pavlo minor, as they passed the open door of the adjoining bedroom, caught sight of a portrait of Basil in the scarlet of his _livrée_ as master of the fox-hounds, surrounded by his dogs. The likeness was vivid, and the baby, with a cry of recognition, said as plain as plain could be: “Papa! Papa!” Marguerite, hardly believing her ears, ran into the room and, raising the baby high up, exclaimed rapturously: “Yes, my own little son, that’s your Papa! Your dear, dear Papa!” Pavlo crowed with pleasure, throwing himself back on his mother’s pretty shoulder; then poking a pudgy finger into her soft cheek, opened his mouth and again spoke: “_Malou_,” he said, “_Malou-maman_.” Marguerite sat right down on the carpet and literally rained kisses upon this prodigy. “My clever baby,” she crooned over him. “Was there ever in the world such a wonder, such a treasure? Wait till Papa hears you say that, you darling, just wait!” The nurse and the maid, chatting together in whispers by the dressing-room window, were not attending, Marguerite lost in admiration did not hear, and yet at this juncture there was a curious motion of the portières separating Basil’s room from his wife’s, a smothered sob, and then a light scurry of little feet running away. Could any of the three women have seen the livid fury masking the face of Piotr as he fled through corridor after corridor to a back stairs leading upon the terrace, what might not have been spared to all? Almost immediately Marguerite, remembering Basil, and how absurdly anxious he would be if she was not there on time, reluctantly gave the baby to his nurse, with the hundred recommendations which invariably followed such an act, and, relinquishing herself to her maid’s hands, implored her to hurry, in comic accents of despair.