Count de Volaski suffered himself to be conducted to the upper end of the room, where a tall and elegant-looking woman, dressed in rich mourning, stood, leaning on the arm of a stately, middle-aged man.

Her face was averted as they approached; but she turned her head and he recognized the beautiful, pale face and lovely dark eyes of his lost bride.

And while the floor of the drawing-room seemed rocking with him, like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, he heard the words of his host whirling through his brain: 

“Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski of St. Petersburg; Count, the Duchess of Hereward.”

CHAPTER XXXV.

FACE TO FACE.

“Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski, of St. Petersburg—­Count, the Duchess of Hereward,” said Lord C., with old-time courtesy and formality.

The gentleman bowed low; the lady courtesied; nothing but the close compression of his lips beneath the golden mustache, and the paler shade on her pale cheeks, betrayed the “whirlwind of emotion” which swept through both their hearts; and these indications of disturbance were too slight to attract any attention.

Neither spoke, neither dared to speak.  It was as much as each could do to maintain a conventional calmness through the terrible ordeal of such an introduction.

Lord C., happily unconscious of anything wrong, did the very best thing he could have done under the circumstances.  Scarcely allowing the count and the duchess time to exchange their bow and courtesy, he turned to her companion and said: 

“Duke, the Count de Volaski.  Count, the Duke of Hereward.”

Both gentlemen bowed; but one, the count, quivered from head to foot in the presence of his unconscious but successful rival.

“By the way, Count,” said the duke, pleasantly, “the duchess, when Mademoiselle de la Motte, passed a year at the court of St. Petersburg with her parents.  It is a wonder that you have not met before.  Although, indeed, you may have done so,” he added, as with an after-thought.

“We have met before,” replied the Count de Volaski, in a low and measured tone.

“Of course!  Of course!  You are quite old friends,” said the duke, gayly.

Fortunately, then a diversion was made.  The heavy, purple satin curtains vailing the arch between the drawing-rooms and dining saloon were drawn aside by invisible hands, and a very dignified and officer-looking personage, in a powdered wig, clerical black suit, and gold chain, appeared, and with a low bow and with low tones, said: 

“My lord and lady are served.”

“Count, will you take the duchess in to dinner?—­Duke, Lady C. will thank you for your arm,” said the host, as, with a nod and a smile, he moved off in search of that particular ambassadress whom custom, or etiquette, or policy, required him to escort to the dining-room.