antechamber, whilst Mademoiselle de Knesebeck apprised her
Highness of his visit. Sophia had already retired to bed, and
the amazing announcement of the Count's presence there startled
her into a fear of untoward happenings. She was overwhelmed, too,
by the rashness of this step of his, coming after the events
of yesterday. If it should be known that he had visited her
thus, terrible consequences might ensue. She rose, and with
Mademoiselle de Knesebeck's aid made ready to receive him. Yet
for all that she made haste, the precious irreclaimable moments
sped.

She came to him at last, Mademoiselle de Knesebeck following, for
propriety's sake.

"What is it?" she asked him breathlessly. "What brings you here
at such an hour?"

"What brings me?" quoth he, surprised at that reception. "Why,
your commands--your letter."

"My letter? What letter?"

A sense of doom, of being trapped, suddenly awoke in him. He
plucked forth the treacherous note, and proffered it.

"Why, what does this mean?" She swept a white hand over her eyes
and brows, as if to brush away some thing that obscured her
vision. "That is not mine. I never wrote it. How could you dream
I should be imprudent as to bid you hither, and at such an hour
How could you dream it?"