Quex.

[Omitting, in his anxiety, to withdraw his hand.] The auguries?

Duchess.

Fate—coincidence—call it what you please—foreshadows one more meeting between us.

Quex.

Coincidence?

Duchess.

[Intensely, in a low voice.] Harry, do you remember a particular evening at Stockholm?

Quex.

[Hazily.] Stockholm?