There was a very short delay. The two men had no time to exchange a word. They heard the rustling of a woman’s gown, and immediately afterwards the perfume of violets seemed to fill the room.
“The Baroness von Ratten!” the butler announced.
The door was closed behind her. The servant had disappeared. Peter advanced to meet his guest. She was a little above medium height, very slim, with extraordinarily fair hair, colorless face, and strange eyes. She was not strictly beautiful and yet there was no man upon whom her presence was without its effect. Her voice was like her movements, slow and with a grace of its own.
“You do not mind that I have come to see you?” she asked, raising her eyes to Peter’s. “I believe before I go that you will think terrible things of me, but you must not begin before I have told you my errand. It has been a great struggle with me before I made up my mind to come here.”
“Won’t you sit down, Baroness?” Peter invited.
She saw Sogrange and hesitated.
“You are not alone,” she said, softly. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
“Permit me to present to you the Marquis de Sogrange,” Peter begged. “He is my oldest friend, Baroness. I think that whatever you might have to say to me you might very well say before him.”
“It is—of a private nature,” she murmured.
“The Marquis and I have no secrets,” Peter declared, “either political or private.”