Her pale blond hair was worn in cunningly disposed ringlets through which was passed a little braid of pearls, and fastened by a fair tortoiseshell comb adorned with squares of dark amber.
Her dress was of rose-colored velvet, cut low in front, with a fall of silver lace on the bosom, and showing a silver petticoat in front.
She had a great scarf of black silk wrapped like a shawl over all her attire, and no jewels at all but one square sapphire on the first finger of her right hand.
“You are very gracious, Madame, to grant me this interview,” said Count Piper; he looked a dull, a wizened figure beside her radiant grace.
“Was it not a command?” asked Madame von Falkenberg.
She stood facing him, with one hand on her hip, almost in the attitude of a man who feels for his sword hilt.
“I am not powerful enough to issue commands to you, Baroness,” he replied suavely.
She flashed into a sudden animation that accorded ill with her frail pallor and look of languid grace.
“I think you are not powerful enough to do anything, Count,” she said, “not powerful enough, certainly, to save Sweden.”
He did not understand her mood or her attitude, but he answered boldly.