"One of them," said his companion, as she led him towards the small drawing-room, "is a well-known literary woman, another is a celebrated public speaker, and the other" ... "Oh, please," exclaimed de Lussac, "can't you introduce me to some pretty woman who has never done anything at all?" A servant, who had just come upstairs, announced in a loud voice, "His Excellency General Sabaroff." The name passed from mouth to mouth, and there was a general lull in the conversation; the crowd surged towards the door, and with frantic cranings of the neck endeavoured to get a glimpse of the new arrival. Dora had recognised him at once. He had not changed. Sabaroff, on his side, as soon as he caught sight of Dora at the top of the staircase, had exclaimed inwardly, "It is she after all; I was told right--it is my lovely English girl of Monte Carlo." Not a look nor a movement of Sabaroff or of Dora had escaped Philip: "It is the same man," he said to himself--"they recognise each other." He moved towards the General. "Your Excellency is very good to have come," he said. And, leading him to where Dora was standing, he went through with an introduction. Sabaroff bowed, kissed Dora's hand respectfully, and addressed a few commonplace words to her to excuse himself for coming so late. General Ivan Sabaroff, Minister of War to his Majesty the Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias, was forty-five years of age, but, thanks to the military bearing which always rejuvenates a man's appearance by a few years, he looked scarcely forty. The ladies declared at once that he was a superb man, and indeed the General had a striking-looking appearance. In the streets of any town, people would have turned round to look at him, the women saying, "What a fine man!" the men, "That is somebody!" Six feet three in his stockings, broad of shoulder, admirably proportioned, with an iron will written on his face, a herculean strength and remarkable suppleness of body, the head dignified and proudly set on a large neck, the face stern with keen scrutinising eyes, straight prominent nose, a sensual mouth, with full red lips and a thick black moustache twisted into two sharp points, the General looked like a man who might be as redoubtable in a boudoir as on a battlefield. As a matter of fact he had won many hearts in the former and many victories in the latter. Not being married, he had risked his reputation in the service of women, and his life in the service of his sovereign, with more impunity and less hesitation than might otherwise have been the case. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, delighted," he said to Dora. And in a lower tone he added, "To renew your acquaintance." Dora, fearing that the General might give a disagreeable turn to the conversation, hastened to make the first remark that passed through her mind. Nothing betrayed the uneasiness she felt at seeing this man again.