"Do not tell me that you are drunk!" she hissed, viciously. "That would be too much! Drunk at such a moment!" But Stewart had begun to pull himself together. "No, madam, I am not drunk," he assured her; "and your pinch convinces me that I am not dreaming." He rubbed his arm thoughtfully. "There remains only one hypothesis--that I have suddenly gone mad. And yet I have never heard of any madness in my family, nor until this moment detected any symptoms in myself." "Is this a time for fooling?" she snapped. "Tell me at once--" "There is, of course, another hypothesis," went on Stewart, calmly, "and that is that it is you who are mad--" "Were you not expecting me?" she repeated. Stewart's eyes fell upon the satin slippers, and he smiled. "Why, certainly I was expecting you," he answered. "I was just saying to myself that the only thing lacking in this fairy-tale was the beautiful Cinderella--and presto; there you were!" She looked at him wildly, her eyes dark with fear. Suddenly she caught her lower lip between the thumb and little finger of her left hand, and stood a moment expectantly, holding it so and staring up at him. Then, as he stared back uncomprehendingly, she dropped into a chair and burst into a flood of tears. Now a pretty woman in tears is, as everyone knows, a sight to melt a heart of stone, especially if that heart be masculine. This woman was extremely pretty, and Stewart's heart was very masculine, with nothing granitic about it. "Oh, come," he protested, "it can't be so bad as that! Let us sit down and talk this thing out quietly. Evidently there is a mistake somewhere." "Then you did not expect me?" she demanded, mopping her eyes. "Expect you? No--except as the fulfillment of a fairy-tale." "You do not know who I am?" "I haven't the slightest idea." "Nor why I am here?" "No." "_Ah, ciel!_" she breathed, "then I am lost!" and she turned so pale that Stewart thought she was going to faint. "Lost!" he protested. "In what way lost? What do you mean?" By a mighty effort she fought back the faintness and regained a little of her self-control. "At this hotel," she explained, in a hoarse voice, "I was to have met a man who was to accompany me across the frontier. He had a passport for both of us--for himself and for his wife." "You were to pass as his wife?" "Yes." "But you did not know the man?" "Evidently--or I should not have--" She stopped, her face crimson with embarrassment. "H-m!" said Stewart, reflecting that he, at least, had no reason to regret the mistake. "Perhaps this unknown is in some other room." "No; you are the only person in the hotel." "Evidently, then, he has not arrived." "Evidently," she assented, and stared moodily at the floor, twisting her handkerchief in nervous, trembling hands.