The Professor opened his eyes to their fullest extent under their half-shut lids. Here was an Englishwoman daring to quiz him!--or, as the English themselves would say, “chaff” him! He coughed, glared, and tried to look dignified, but failed,--and was fain to trot, or rather shuffle, in to the dining-room somewhat meekly at the trailing end of Diana’s rose and lilac chiffon train. When they were all seated at table, he looked at her with what was, for him, unusual curiosity, realising that she was not quite an “ordinary” sort of woman. He began to wonder about her, and where she came from,--it was all very well to say “from England”--but up to now, all conversation had been carried on in French, and her French had no trace whatever of the British accent. She sat opposite to him, and he had good opportunity to observe her attentively, though furtively. She was talking with much animation to the Marchese Farnese,--her voice had the most enchanting modulation of tone,--and, straining his ears to hear what she was saying, he found she was speaking Italian. At this he was fairly nonplussed and somewhat annoyed--he did not speak Italian himself. All his theories respecting the British female were upset. _No_ British female--he said this inwardly--_no_ single one of the species in his knowledge, talked the French of France, or the Italian of Tuscany. He watched her with an almost grudging interest. She was not young,--she was not old. “Some man has had the making or the marring of her!” he thought, crossly. “No woman ever turned _herself_ out with such _aplomb_ and _savoir faire_!” Meanwhile Diana was enjoying her dinner. She was cleverly “drawing out” her partner at table, young Farnese, who proved to be passionately keen on all scientific research, and particularly so on the mysterious doings of Féodor Dimitrius. Happy to find himself next to a woman who spoke his native tongue with charm and fluency, he “let himself go” freely. “I suppose you have known Dr. Dimitrius for some time?” he asked. Diana thought for a second,--then replied promptly: “Oh, yes!” “He’s a wonderful man!” said Farnese. “Wonderful! I have myself witnessed his cures of cases given up by all other doctors as hopeless. I have asked him to accept me as a student under him, but he will not. He has some mystery which he will allow no one but himself to penetrate.” “Really!” and Diana lifted her eyebrows in an arch of surprise. “He has never given me that impression.” “Ah, no!” and Farnese smiled rather darkly. “He would not appear in that light to one of your sex. He does not care for women. His own mother is not really aware of the nature of his studies or the object of his work. Nobody has his confidence. As you are a friend of his you must know this quite well?” “Oh, yes!--yes, of course!” murmured Diana, absently. “But nobody expects a very clever man to explain himself to his friends--or to the public. He must always do his work more or less alone.”