The name had roused Pauline from her dreamy state; she continued dancing, but its pleasure was gone. The little hand within his own was trembling very much. The waltz over, he led her to a seat.
“I will release you now; it is time you looked for—for her!” said Pauline, indicating the scarf upon his arm. “Please, go,” she added, as he hesitated.
There was something odd in her manner, a sort of defying and scorning of herself, and yet withal a touch of sadness in her voice, as though, in spite of her command, she was reluctant to part from him.
“Farewell, Baroness—for a time,” said Wilfrid, and with a bow he turned away, leaving her seated upon a lounge.
He did not at once quit the ballroom, but, making his way to one of the open windows that gave egress to the gardens, stood there in a somewhat conspicuous position, his embroidered favour clearly showing, to the end that if the Duchess should be in the ballroom, it might certify her of his presence.
While standing there he could not help wondering what had caused Pauline to take so strange an interest in Ouvaroff—that is, supposing the Crusader to be Ouvaroff. What was implied by his whispered word, “Baroness!” so meaningly emphasised? Reproach that she should be found dancing with one so dishonourable as Wilfrid? Had he seen Pauline recently and given her his version of the affair at the Silver Birch, openly avowing that he would take vengeance upon Wilfrid? Was Pauline going to use her influence over Ouvaroff with the object of getting him to desist from the attempt? If so, she had chosen a strange time and a strange place for endeavours that, however well-meant on her part, would not be very acceptable to Wilfrid, who much preferred to punish with a little blood-letting the presumed traducer of the fair and innocent Duchess.
From time to time he turned his eyes in the direction of Pauline, who, seated where he had left her, seemed intent only on watching him.
Then it suddenly struck him that, so long as he stood there, Pauline would not be approached by Ouvaroff. Not wishing, therefore, to deprive her of the desired interview, Wilfrid walked slowly out upon the terrace, thinking that, if the Duchess were really in the ballroom, and had seen the embroidered scarf, she would perhaps, after a reasonable time, follow in his wake.
From the terrace a flight of steps descended to the palace gardens, now in all the glory of their summer foliage. Voices and laughter from near and far showed that many of the masqueraders preferred the purer air of night to the atmosphere of the ballroom. And then, too, the gardens with their shady walks, winding here and there beside silver lakes, formed an ideal place for love-making.
As he did not appear to be followed by the Duchess, Wilfrid resolved to make a tour of these gardens in the hope of meeting her.