Even when there, however, she found it none too easy to reach the Baron. Totally ignorant of the language, and unable to ask her way, she had to trust to luck, and luck did not favor her. It was late in the afternoon--the afternoon of the same day and at about the same hour when Caruth and Marie were leaving Gatchina--that she at last found her way to the Baron’s office and sent in a card inscribed with Olga’s name, but with the additional words, “Princess Yves Napraxine,” pencilled in the corner. But after that events moved fast. Scarcely had her card vanished when the door was flung open and the Baron rushed in, both hands extended. “Ah, _Madame la Princesse_!” he exclaimed. “To think of seeing you here! Come in! Come in!” Eagerly he urged her toward the inner office, pouring out the while a flood of welcomings. “Well! Well!” he exclaimed. “To think of it. Where did you come from, Princess? Where have you been all these days?” Florence seated herself and stared at him with cool insolence. Instinctively she knew that she would gain no more from him by softness than she had gained in former days from the “Johnnies” in New York. Men were all alike, she decided, and the weeping, clinging girl was a back number. “Back off! Back off!” she ordered. “I’m not telling where I’ve been yet.” “But the gold, Princess! The gold!” “The gold is all to the downy. It’s where I can put my hand on it. You see, Baron, I’m one of the new woman push, and I ain’t trusting anybody. You might play fair if I turned the stuff over to you, and you might not. It’s me for the sure thing every time. That’s why I got me suitors to carry the gold off and hide it away till I got guarantees.” Instead of showing vexation, the Baron chuckled. Such impudence from one altogether in his power was refreshing. Florence had made no mistake in her treatment of him. The Baron admired any one who was clever enough to see through him. Besides, the girl was very handsome. “What guarantees do you want, Princess?” he asked soberly. Florence hesitated; she did not know what to ask. “I want to see the proofs,” she declared vaguely. “You hand me a jolly about strawberry mark and me lost ancestors and ask me to turn over five million dollars in return. It ain’t good enough! See? I’d rather keep the five million dollars meself, if there’s any doubt about the thing.” “Quite reasonable! Quite reasonable!” The Baron nodded. “The proofs are largely documentary. I will send for them. Meanwhile----” The Baron paused for a moment; then went on. “Princess!” he said, “I will be frank with you. I see that you are not one to be deceived. To a fair face you unite the cool head of a man----” “Cut it out! Cut it out!”