The door closed behind her. The servant had disappeared. Peter advanced to meet his guest. She was a little above medium height, very slim, with extraordinarily fair hair, colourless face, and strange eyes. She was not strictly beautiful, and yet there was no man upon whom her presence was without its effect. Her voice was like her movements, slow, and with a grace of its own. "You do not mind that I have come to see you?" she asked, raising her eyes to Peter's. "I believe before I go that you will think terrible things of me, but you must not begin before I have told you my errand. It has been a great struggle with me before I made up my mind to come here." "Won't you sit down, Baroness?" Peter invited. She saw Sogrange, and hesitated. "You are not alone," she said softly. "I wish to speak with you alone." "Permit me to present to you the Marquis de Sogrange," Peter begged. "He is my oldest friend, Baroness. I think that whatever you might have to say to me you might very well say before him." "It is--of a private nature," she murmured. "The Marquis and I have no secrets," Peter declared, "either political or private." She sat down and motioned Peter to take a place by her side upon the sofa. "You will forgive me if I am a little incoherent," she implored. "To-day I have had a shock. You, too, have read the news? You must know that the Count von Hern is dead--killed in the railway accident last night?" "We read it in the _Daily Telegraph_," Peter replied. "It is in all the papers," she continued. "You know that he was a very dear friend of mine?" "I have heard so," Peter admitted. "Yet there was one subject," she insisted, earnestly, "upon which we never agreed. He hated England. I have always loved it. England was kind to me when my own country drove me out. I have always felt grateful. It has been a sorrow to me that in so many of his schemes, in so much of his work, Bernadine should consider his own country at the expense of yours." Sogrange drew a little nearer. It began to be interesting, this. "I heard the news early this morning by telegram," she went on. "For a long time I was prostrate. Then early this afternoon I began to think--one must always think. Bernadine was a dear friend, but things between us lately have been different, a little strained. Was it his fault or mine--who can say? Does one tire with the years, I wonder? I wonder!" Her eyes were lifted to his, and Peter was conscious of the fact that she wished him to know that they were beautiful. She looked slowly away again.