At last my uncertainty was ended, but not by the expected vision. Instead, a light-haired, fair-faced girl looked up in genuine astonishment, and Zénaïde’s eyes met mine. She was at first too surprised to do more than gaze at me in perfect bewilderment, and I returned her regard with a stupid amazement. For some reason I had not thought of arousing Zénaïde. She was the first to recover herself, and apparently comprehended something of the situation. She withdrew, and almost immediately Mademoiselle Eudoxie really did look up; and even in that predicament I could scarcely restrain a smile at her evident horror and alarm. She signed to me that they understood, and then her head also vanished, and I withdrew my singular signal, fearing that it might attract the attention of less friendly eyes. There was nothing to be done now but to await developments, which I did with all the patience I could command. It was some little time before I heard light steps outside my door; and after some fumbling with the fastenings, it was thrown open, revealing Zénaïde upon the threshold, and mademoiselle looking over her shoulder with an expression of astonishment difficult to describe. I was conscious of cutting a sorry figure, for I must have borne the marks of the hard usage of the previous night. Zénaïde did not seem to require any explanation of my presence, probably imagining that it was due to some of her uncle’s violence; but to mademoiselle I had to make a lengthy statement, which had the effect of turning her surprise to alarm. “Zénaïde, dear, we must get him right out!” she cried nervously. “It is a great risk to delay a moment. Your uncle--the servants--” Zénaïde glanced at her with that kind of scorn that a strong nature feels for a weak one. “You forget, dear mademoiselle,” she said calmly, “that my uncle is indisposed to-day; has been so since the czar’s funeral, and the serfs will not interfere with me,” she added, with a certain hauteur which became her well, and which evidently revived the sinking spirits of the older woman. It was plain that she was in the habit of relying on the young girl’s strength of will rather than on her own. “Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said earnestly, “I must escape as soon as possible, for I was the bearer of an important packet, and know not how serious may be the consequences of its loss.” She looked at me anxiously, the danger of my situation seeming to have surmounted her first embarrassment, so that she spoke to and regarded me as an old friend rather than a new admirer. “A packet, M. de Brousson,” she said thoughtfully; “it may be that I know something of it,” and she questioned me about its size and appearance, listening attentively to my description. “That packet only left this house an hour since,” she said. “I was in attendance upon my uncle, and saw him give it to a dwarf just as I was leaving the room.”