I handed her Polehampton’s bills and explained that I was at a loss to turn them to account; that I even had only the very haziest of ideas as to their meaning.  Holding the forlorn papers in her hand, she began to lecture me on the duty of acquiring the rudiments of what she called “business habits.”

“Of course you do not require to master details to any considerable extent,” she said, “but I always have held that it is one of the duties of a....”

She interrupted herself as my sister came into the room; looked at her, and then held out the papers in her hand.  The things quivered a little; the hand must have quivered too.

“You are going to Halderschrodt’s?” she said, interrogatively.  “You could get him to negotiate these for Etchingham?”

Miss Granger looked at the papers negligently.

“I am going this afternoon,” she answered.  “Etchingham can come....”  She suddenly turned to me:  “So your friend is getting shaky,” she said.

“It means that?” I asked.  “But I’ve heard that he has done the same sort of thing before.”

“He must have been shaky before,” she said, “but I daresay Halderschrodt....”

“Oh, it’s hardly worth while bothering that personage about such a sum,” I interrupted.  Halderschrodt, in those days, was a name that suggested no dealings in any sum less than a million.

“My dear Etchingham,” my aunt interrupted in a shocked tone, “it is quite worth his while to oblige us....”

“I didn’t know,” I said.

That afternoon we drove to Halderschrodt’s private office, a sumptuous—­that is the mot juste—­suite of rooms on the first floor of the house next to the Duc de Mersch’s Sans Souci.  I sat on a plush-bottomed gilded chair, whilst my pseudo-sister transacted her business in an adjoining room—­a room exactly corresponding with that within which de Mersch had lurked whilst the lady was warning me against him.  A clerk came after awhile, carried me off into an enclosure, where my bill was discounted by another, and then reconducted me to my plush chair.  I did not occupy it, as it happened.  A meagre, very tall Alsatian was holding the door open for the exit of my sister.  He said nothing at all, but stood slightly inclined as she passed him.  I caught a glimpse of a red, long face, very tired eyes, and hair of almost startling whiteness—­the white hair of a comparatively young man, without any lustre of any sort—­a dead white, like that of snow.  I remember that white hair with a feeling of horror, whilst I have almost forgotten the features of the great Baron de Halderschrodt.

I had still some of the feeling of having been in contact with a personality of the most colossal significance as we went down the red carpet of the broad white marble stairs.  With one foot on the lowest step, the figure of a perfectly clothed, perfectly groomed man was standing looking upward at our descent.  I had thought so little of him that the sight of the Duc de Mersch’s face hardly suggested any train of emotions.  It lit up with an expression of pleasure.