“Wear this at the masquerade.”
And without any more words he withdrew, ignoring Wilfrid’s request for an explanation, though, in truth, one was scarcely required. From whom did this favour come, if not from the Duchess? It was a proof that she intended to be present at the approaching fête, and was desirous of fixing some token upon Wilfrid to enable her to distinguish him from among the crowd of masked dancers.
Thirteen days yet before he would meet her! How was he to live through them all?
The first four, measured by Wilfrid’s feelings, seemed more like four months: on the fifth, however, came a welcome diversion in the arrival of Lord St. Helens, the British plenipotentiary, sent to consider the peace proposals of the Czar.
There was assigned to him and his suite a stately mansion on the Nevski Prospekt, at the point where it is crossed by the Fontanka Canal.
Wilfrid lost no time in calling upon the old gentleman, who was delighted to see his nephew, and proud likewise of his late achievements in the political arena.
“Ah! my boy,” said he, “since you can do great things in an unofficial capacity, what would you do as a diplomatist?”
“Much less,” replied Wilfrid drily.
Lord St. Helens had frequent interviews with Count Panine, the new chancellor of the Empire, and from each interview he returned more hopeful. He condescended now and again to favour Wilfrid, under the seal of secrecy, with the course taken by the negotiations.