"On the contrary, Duchesse," Peter continued, fencing wildly, "you have never in your life been more in need of anyone's services than you are of mine." The conflict was uneven. The Duchesse was a nervous, highly strung woman. The calm assurance of Peter's manner oppressed her with a sense of his mastery. She sank back upon the couch from which she had arisen. "I wish you would tell me what you mean," she said. "You have no right to talk to me in this fashion. What have you to do with my affairs?" "I have as much to do with them as the Count von Hern," Peter insisted boldly. "I have known the Count von Hern," she answered, "for very many years. You have been a shipboard acquaintance of mine for a few hours." "If you have known the Count von Hern for many years," Peter asserted, "you have found out by this time that he is an absolutely untrustworthy person." "Supposing he is," she said, "will you tell me what concern it is of yours? Do you suppose for one moment that I am likely to discuss my private affairs with a perfect stranger?" "You have no private affairs," Peter declared sternly. "They are the affairs of a nation." She glanced at him with a little shiver. From that moment he felt that he was gaining ground. She looked around the room. It was well filled, but in their corner they were almost unobserved. "How much do you know?" she asked in a low tone which shook with passion. Peter smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps more even than you, Duchesse," he replied. "I should like to be your friend. You need one--you know that." She rose abruptly to her feet. "For to-night it is enough," she declared, wrapping her fur cloak around her. "You may talk to me to-morrow, Baron. I must think. If you desire really to be my friend there is, perhaps, one service which I may require of you. But to-night, no!" Peter stood aside and allowed her to step past him. He was perfectly content with the progress he had made. Her farewell salute was by no means ungracious. As soon as she was out of sight he returned to the couch where she had been sitting. She had taken away the marconigrams, but she had left upon the floor several copies of the _New York Herald_. He took them up and read them carefully through. The last one he found particularly interesting, so much so that he folded it up, placed it in his coat pocket, and went off to look for Sogrange, whom he found at last in the saloon, watching a noisy game of "Up, Jenkins!" Peter sank upon the cushioned seat by his side. "You were right," he remarked. "Bernadine has been busy." Sogrange smiled. "I trust," he said, "that the Duchesse is not proving faithless?" "So far," Peter replied, "I have kept my end up. To-morrow will be the test. Bernadine has filled her with caution. She thinks that I know everything--whatever everything may be. Unless I can discover a little more than I do now, to-morrow is going to be an exceedingly awkward day for me."