“Always very gratefully and sincerely yours,

“HENRIETTE STANDISH.”

Here was a pretty kettle of fish!  Lady Blackadder in Aix!  Was there ever such a broken reed of a woman?  Already she had spoilt her sister’s nice combinations by turning back from Amberieu when the road to safety with her darling child lay open to her.  Now for the second time she was putting our plans in jeopardy.  How could I hope to lure her pursuers away to a distance when she was here actually on the spot, and might be run into at any moment?  For the present all my movements were in abeyance.  I had reason to fear—­how much reason I did not even then realize—­they would be interfered with, and that a terrible collapse threatened us.

I dressed hurriedly and walked down to the Hotel Modena, where I was instantly received.  “Mrs. Blair” had given orders that I should be admitted the moment I appeared.  I had had one glimpse of this tall, graceful creature, who so exactly reproduced the beautiful traits of her twin sister that she might indeed at a distance be taken for her double.  There was the same proud carriage of her head, the same lithe figure, even her musical voice when she greeted me with shy cordiality might have been the voice of Lady Claire.

But the moment I looked into her face I saw a very distinct difference, not in outward feature, but in the inward character that is revealed by the eyes, the lines of the mouth, the shape of the lower jaw.  In Lady Claire the first were steady and spoke of high courage, of firm, fixed purpose; the mouth, as perfectly curved as Cupid’s bow, was resolute and determined, the well-shaped, rounded chin was held erect, and might easily become defiant, even aggressive.

Lady Henriette was evidently cast in another mould.  Her eyes, of the same violet blue, were pretty, pleading, soft in expression, but often downcast and deprecating; the mouth and chin were weak and irresolute.  It was the same lovely face as Lady Claire’s, and to some might seem the sweeter, indicating the tender, clinging, yielding nature that commonly appeals to the stronger sex; but to me she lost in every respect by comparison with her more energetic, self-reliant sister.

I heard the explanation, such as it was, without the smallest surprise; it was very much what I expected now when I was permitted to know and appreciate her better.

“What shall I say, Colonel Annesley, and what will you think of me?” she began plaintively, almost piteously.  “But the moment I found I had to part with my child my courage broke down.  I became incapable of doing anything.  I seemed quite paralyzed.  I am not brave, you know, like my dearest Claire, or strong-minded, and I quite collapsed.”

“But I hope and trust you have made the exchange.  Lady Claire has little Lord Aspdale and has left you the dummy?  Tell me, I beg.”

“Oh, yes, yes, we made the exchange,” she replied, in such a faltering, undecided voice that I doubted, and yet could not bring myself to believe that she was not telling the truth.