It was Judith, the French girl who had been Lady Thorold's maid. Her beady little black eyes rested on me for an instant, then were quietly lowered. But instinctively I knew that in that single, swift glance she had recognised me--and I certainly held her in suspicion. "The rooms have been retained for you Baronne," I heard Paulton say, "the rooms you had last year. Shall I order supper?" "Certainly. Please do," the deep voice answered. "Tell Gustave to send it to my rooms in a quarter of an hour. Ma foi! I am famished." For the first time I noticed that she spoke with a foreign accent. But it was not very marked. "Then I shall see you later," Paulton said, as the new arrival moved towards the lift. "_A tantot_, Baronne." "_A bientot_." Paulton bent over her hand, and when the doors of the lift had shut he came across to us. "You'd better get into your coats," he said. "My car is just coming round!" "Who is the lady?" Faulkner asked carelessly. "Who?" Paulton exclaimed. "You don't mean to say you don't know Baronne de Coudron? I thought everybody in Monte knew the Baronne--by sight. She's one of my best friends." As the big grey Rolls-Royce sped through the darkness, the storm still raged. None of us spoke. Three glowing cigars alone indicated our whereabouts. Whether or not it was the stiff brandy-and-soda I had had in the smoking-room, I know not, but I suddenly realised that I was becoming curiously drowsy. I tried to keep awake. My eyelids felt like lead. They were smarting, too. Presently I was aware that something glowing red had fallen to the ground. Afterwards I came to know it had been Faulkner's cigar. I do not know what happened immediately afterwards. My mind suddenly became a complete blank. At last, hours afterwards, I suppose, I slowly struggled back to consciousness. Where was I? The room, and all in it, was strange to me. All was utterly unfamiliar. My head ached very badly. My back and limbs were stiff. I got off the sofa where I had lain asleep, scrambled to my feet, and looked about me. At once I saw Faulkner. He was asleep still, in a most uncomfortable attitude, in a big leather armchair. His mouth was wide open. A glance out of the window showed me that the house we were in was in the open country. Already it was broad daylight, and a perfect calm had succeeded the storm of the previous night. But had it been the previous night? I supposed so. Signs of the storm were still visible everywhere--trees blown down and lying on their sides, branches and great limbs lying about. The country all around was densely wooded. Look in what direction I would, only trees, grass fields and mountains were visible. There was not a house in sight; not a cottage; not a hut. I went over to Faulkner, and shook him roughly. He was still sleeping soundly, and it took me some minutes to arouse him into consciousness.