"That is absolution from sin, Excellency."
Curious answer to her thoughts, and with the answer came a remembrance, "Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."
And the remembrance brought confidence. Perhaps, after all, the tangle consequent on her playing Providence might be going to be straightened out.
The front door of the unpretentious tower, with a building like a barn built on to it, that stood magnificently on a little plateau overlooking the valley with a faint glimpse of plain beyond, was wide open, and at it, standing against, but not leaning upon the pilaster, was the most striking figure of a woman Marrion thought she had ever seen. Extreme old age had set its mark on the lined face, with thin white hair drawn under a lace lappet; but the figure was that of a girl of twenty. Extraordinarily tall, massive in proportion, but upright as a dart and with activity in every curve and line.
The lady gave a dignified bow as Marrion, still closely veiled as protection from the bitter cold, came up the steps.
"Princess Pauloffski?" she asked tentatively in French, for it was impossible to think the figure that of a servant.
"I am Princess Pauloffski," was the dignified reply in slightly guttural French.
"Might I speak with you for a few minutes?" continued Marrion nervously.
The Princess smiled.
"Ah, you are English! My son Paul was a long time in England or Scotland," she replied in better English than her French. "You must be cold; come in and take off your wraps."