“Do you mean to say,” he asked in amazement, “that she cannot tell how she came to be in the Neva?”
“Has no recollection whatever of the event. Her mind is a complete blank as to her past: cannot recall the name of a friend or the name of any place where she has dwelt.”
“In what mood is she. Sad?”
“Not at all. Smiles at her own perplexity—in fact, her loss of memory seems rather to amuse her.”
“And how long is this state likely to last?”
Beauvais shrugged his shoulders.
“One cannot say. A week: a month: a year. Perhaps for the rest of her life.”
“And you have no idea who she is?”
“Not in the least; nor has the Baroness. Am I justified in supposing from your agitation last night that she is the lady that set you and the Czar at feud?”
Wilfrid replied that such was the case.