The count read the note twice, with wrinkled brow, then scribbled on it in pencil:
"Impossible to-night. Tell her to call at the embassy to-morrow morning at half-past ten o'clock."
He folded the note, handed it to the servant, and resumed his conversation with Mrs. Wi.
Half an hour later the same servant placed a second sealed envelope beside his plate. Recognizing the superscription, the ambassador impatiently shoved it aside, intending to disregard it. But irritated curiosity finally triumphed, and he opened it. A white card on which was written this command was his reward:
"It is necessary that you come to the embassy at once."
There was no signature. The handwriting was unmistakably that of a woman, and just as unmistakably strange to him. He frowned a little as he stared at it wonderingly, then idly turned the card over. There was no name on the reverse side—only a crest. Evidently the count recognized this, for his impassive face reflected surprise for an instant, and this was followed by a keen, bewildered interest. Finally he arose, made his apologies, and left the room. His automobile was at the door.
"To the embassy," he directed the chauffeur.
And within five minutes he was there. His secretary met him in the hall.