On the river bank, waiting for Beauvais and his companion, were two sturdy Finlanders in charge of a small rowing-boat. It would have been easy for Wilfrid to take to his heels; but, honouring his plighted word, he stepped with the doctor into the boat, was rowed across the channel, and was soon treading the green turf of Runö.
Entering the castle, Wilfrid was led through several corridors and apartments, till his conductor stopped at last before a certain door, at which he tapped thrice.
“Come in,” said a sweet and familiar voice.
Beauvais drew aside, and Wilfrid entered the room alone.
Of the size, character, and furnishings of this apartment, he took no note; his eye rested on one object alone, the figure of Pauline, the sole occupant of the room. She had risen to receive him, and stood looking somewhat paler than usual. Her half-smile of greeting died away as she beheld his stern glance.
“So it is to you, then, that I owe this abduction?”
“Am I not acting for the best?” she said, in a faint voice.
“I compliment you upon your new greatness,” he continued sarcastically.
“My new greatness?” she faltered.
“Yes. If the Czar may not fight a duel when he is so disposed, then it is not the Czar that rules, but the Baroness Runö.”