“You mean the Princess Zurloff,” remarked the man through his red beard.  “Whom shall I say desires to see her?”

“Take that,” I said, handing to him the piece of paper which, beside the address, bore a curious cipher-mark like three triangles joined.

He closed the door, leaving us in the wide carpeted hall, the statuary in which showed us that it was a richly-furnished place, and when a few minutes later he returned, he conducted us upstairs to a fine gilded salon, where an elderly gray-haired lady in black stood gravely to receive us.

“Allow me to present Mademoiselle Elma Heath, Princess,” I said, speaking in French and bowing, and afterwards telling her my own name.

Our hostess welcomed my love in a graceful speech, but I said—­

“Mademoiselle unfortunately suffers a terrible affliction.  She is deaf and dumb.”

“Ah, how very, very sad!” she exclaimed sympathetically.  “Poor girl! poor girl!” and she placed her hand tenderly upon Elma’s shoulder and looked into her eyes.  Then, turning to me, she said:  “So the Red Priest has sent you both to me!  You are in danger of arrest, I suppose—­you wish me to conceal you here?”

“I would only ask sanctuary for Mademoiselle,” was my reply.  “For myself, I have no fear.  I am English, and therefore not a member of the Party.”

“The Mademoiselle fears arrest?”

“There is an order signed for her banishment to Saghalein,” I said.  “She was imprisoned at Kajana, the fortress away in Finland, but I succeeded in liberating her.”

“She has actually been in Kajana!” gasped the Princess.  “Ah! we have all heard sufficient of the horrors of that place.  And you liberated her!  Why, she is the only person who has ever escaped from that living tomb to which Oberg sends his victims.”

“I believe so, Princess.”

“And may I take it, m’sieur, that the reason you risked your life for her is because you love her?  Pardon me for suggesting this.”

“You have guessed correctly,” I answered.  Then, knowing that Elma could not hear, I added:  “I love her, but we are not lovers.  I have not told her of my affection.  Hers is a long and strange story, and she will perhaps tell you something of it in writing.”

“Well,” exclaimed the gray-haired lady smiling, leading my love across the luxurious room, the atmosphere of which was filled with the scent of flowers, and taking off her cloak with her own hands, “you are safe here, my poor child.  If spies have not followed you, then you shall remain my guest as long as you desire.”

“I am sure it is very good of you, Princess,” I said gratefully.  “Miss Heath is the victim of a vile and dastardly conspiracy.  When I tell you that she has been afflicted as she is by her enemies—­that an operation was performed upon her in Italy while she was unconscious—­you will readily see in what deadly peril she is.”

“What!” she cried.  “Have her enemies actually done this?  Horrible!”