"Oh, heaven, it is she!" she cried, her eyes fixed on a page of the photograph album she had been dusting. "Brother, come here; for heaven's sake, who is this?"
"Baroness von Döring," curtly answered Kallash, glancing quickly at the photograph. "What do you find interesting in her?"
"It is either she or her double! Do you know who she looks like?"
"Lord only knows! Herself, perhaps!"
"No, she has a double! I am sure of it! Do you remember, at mother's, my maid Natasha?"
"Natasha?" the count considered, knitting his brows in the effort to recollect.
"Yes, Natasha, my maid. A tall, fair girl. A thick tress of chestnut hair. She had such beautiful hair! And her lips had just the same proud expression. Her eyes were piercing and intelligent, her brows were clearly marked and joined together—in a word, the very original of this photograph!"
"Ah," slowly and quietly commented the count, pressing his hand to his brow. "Exactly. Now I remember! Yes, it is a striking likeness."
"But look closely," cried the old woman excitedly; "it is the living image of Natasha! Of course she is more matured, completely developed. How old is the baroness?"
"She must be approaching forty. But she doesn't look her age; you would imagine her to be about thirty-two from her appearance."