The door, rather clumsily, as though handled with muffled fingers, slowly opened. Framed in it, leaning partly upon Peters, and partly upon a footman, staring at the room and its occupants from beneath the sinister covering of a black high-peaked bonnet, was the Duchess. The old lady caught, for a second, the vision of her grandchildren, beat down from her face the effect that their presence had upon her, then moved slowly, between her supporters, towards the nearest chair. CHAPTER VIII A QUARTETTE "Her dignity consisted, I do believe, in her recognition, always sure and prompt, of the dramatic moment."--HENRY GALLEON. I Rachel came forward: Roddy from his sofa said something. She was, it seemed, unconscious of them all, fixing her eyes upon a large black-leather arm-chair, settling slowly down into it, dismissing Peters and the footman with "Thank you--That is very kind": then, at last leaning her hands upon her ebony cane, raised her eyes and smiled grimly, almost triumphantly, at Roddy. He had been aware, at that first glimpse of her in the doorway, that he was ashamed of himself. He should not have done it. She was older, feebler, more of a victim than he had ever conceived her possibly to be, and in some way the situation that awaited her changed her entirely from the old tyrant who had sat there talking to him only a week ago into someone who demanded of one's chivalry, of one's courtesy, protection. Roddy had also caught the light of fierce recognition that had leapt up into Breton's face as he had realized who it was that stood before him. Breton must have many old scores to pay.... Roddy was suddenly frightened of the emotions, the fierce resentments, the angry rebellions that he had brought so lightly into collision. But the smile that the Duchess flung to him had in it no fear. It said to him: "Oh, young man, _this_ is your little plot, is it? Oh, Roddy, my friend, _how_ young you are and _how_ little you know me if you think that I am in the least embarrassed by this little gathering. I'm glad that you've given me a chance of showing what I can do." She dominated the room; she was, from the minute of her appearance, mistress of the situation. They realized her power as they had never realized it before. Sitting there, leaning forward upon her cane, she remarkably resembled Yale Ross's portrait. She was even wearing the green jade pendant, and her black dress, her bonnet, her fine white wrists, a gold chain with its jangling cluster of things--a gold pencil, a card case, a netted purse--these flung into fine relief the sharp white face lit now with an amused, an ironic vitality. She was old, she was ill, she was being trodden down by generations hungrier than any that she had ever known, but she was as indomitable as she had ever been.