In the days that followed, every doubt he might have had as to her identity was dispelled. She talked freely of their early childhood, of their father's death, of their mother; she even spoke of her brother's coldness and hostility in terms which drove away the last shadow of doubt whether she was really his sister. But at first he made no corresponding revelations, remaining for her only Count Kallash. XI THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM Little by little, however, as the poor old woman recovered something of health and strength, his heart went out toward her. Telling her only certain incidents of his life, he gradually brought the narrative back to the period, twenty years before, immediately after their mother's death, and at last revealed himself to his sister, after making her promise secrecy as to his true name. Thus matters went on for nearly two years. The broken-down old woman lived in his rooms in something like comfort, and took pleasure in dusting and arranging his things. One day, when she was tidying the sitting room, her brother was startled by a sudden exclamation, almost a cry, which broke from his sister's lips. "Oh, heaven, it is she!" she cried, her eyes fixed on a page of the photograph album she had been dusting. "Brother, come here; for heaven's sake, who is this?" "Baroness von Döring," curtly answered Kallash, glancing quickly at the photograph. "What do you find interesting in her?" "It is either she or her double! Do you know who she looks like?" "Lord only knows! Herself, perhaps!" "No, she has a double! I am sure of it! Do you remember, at mother's, my maid Natasha?" "Natasha?" the count considered, knitting his brows in the effort to recollect. "Yes, Natasha, my maid. A tall, fair girl. A thick tress of chestnut hair. She had such beautiful hair! And her lips had just the same proud expression. Her eyes were piercing and intelligent, her brows were clearly marked and joined together--in a word, the very original of this photograph!" "Ah," slowly and quietly commented the count, pressing his hand to his brow. "Exactly. Now I remember! Yes, it is a striking likeness." "But look closely," cried the old woman excitedly; "it is the living image of Natasha! Of course she is more matured, completely developed. How old is the baroness?" "She must be approaching forty. But she doesn't look her age; you would imagine her to be about thirty-two from her appearance." "There! And Natasha would be just forty by now!" "The ages correspond," answered her brother. "Yes." Princess Anna sighed sadly. "Twenty-two years have passed since then. But if I met her face to face I think I would recognize her at once. Tell me, who is she?"