The effect of speech like this, and more in a similar strain of frank corruptness, was to cleanse Wilfrid's mind, and nerve his heart, and he denied that he had any desire to meet the Countess Ammiani, unless he could perform a service that would be agreeable to her. The lady shrugged. "Well, that is one way. She has enemies, of course." Wilfrid begged for their names. "Who are they not?" she replied. "Chiefly women, it is true." He begged most earnestly for their names; he would have pleaded eloquently, but dreaded that the intonation of one in his low garb might be taken for a whine; yet he ventured to say that if the countess did imagine herself indebted to him in a small degree, the mention of two or three of the names of Countess Alessandra Ammiani's enemies would satisfy him. "Countess Lena von Lenkenstein, Countess Violetta d'Isorella, signorina Irma di Karski." She spoke the names out like a sum that she was paying down in gold pieces, and immediately rang the bell for her servant and carriage, as if she had now acquitted her debt. Wilfrid bowed himself forth. A resolution of the best kind, quite unconnected with his interests or his love, urged him on straight to the house of the Lenkensteins, where he sent up his name to Countess Lena. After a delay of many minutes, Count Lenkenstein accompanied by General Pierson came down, both evidently affecting not to see him. The General barely acknowledged his salute. "Hey! Kinsky!" the count turned in the doorway to address him by the title of his regiment; "here; show me the house inhabited by the Countess d'Isorella during the revolt." Wilfrid followed them to the end of the street, pointing his finger to the house, and saluted. "An Englishman did me the favour--from pure eccentricity, of course--to save my life on that exact spot, General," said the count. "Your countrymen usually take the other side; therefore I mention it."