“I was anxious to hear more.

“‘Is it not dull for the lady here at this time of the year?’

“The valet raised his shoulders with a gesture of despair that was almost passionate.

“Dull!  Ah, monsieur could not conceive to himself the dullness of it.  That poor Madame la Baronne! not even a little child to keep her company on the long, long days when there was nothing but snow in the heaven and on the earth and the howling of the wind and the dogs to cheer her.  At the beginning, indeed, it had been different; when the master first brought home his bride the house was gay enough.  It was all redecorated and refurnished to receive her (monsieur should have seen it before, a mere rendezvous-de-chasse—­for the matter of that so were all the country houses in these parts).  Ah, that was the good time!  There were visits month after month; parties, sleighing, dancing, trips to St. Petersburg and Vienna.  But this year it seemed they were to have nothing but boars and wolves.  How madame could stand it—­well, it was not for him to speak—­and heaving a deep sigh he delicately inserted my white tie round my collar, and with a flourish twisted it into an irreproachable bow beneath my chin.  I did not think it right to cross-examine the willing talker any further, especially as, despite his last asseveration, there were evidently volumes he still wished to pour forth; but I confess that, as I made my way slowly out of my room along the noiseless length of passage, I was conscious of an unwonted, not to say vulgar, curiosity concerning the woman who had captivated such a man as the Baron Kossowski.

“In a fit of speculative abstraction I must have taken the wrong turning, for I presently found myself in a long, narrow passage.  I did not remember.  I was retracing my steps when there came the sound of rapid footfalls upon stone flags; a little door flew open in the wall close to me, and a small, thick-set man, huddled in the rough sheepskin of the Galician peasant, with a mangy fur cap on his head, nearly ran headlong into my arms.  I was about condescendingly to interpellate him in my best Polish, when I caught the gleam of an angry yellow eye and noted the bristle of a red beard—­Kossowski!

“Amazed, I fell back a step in silence.  With a growl like an uncouth animal disturbed, he drew his filthy cap over his brow with a savage gesture and pursued his way down the corridor at a sort of wild-boar trot.

“This first meeting between host and guest was so odd, so incongruous, that it afforded me plenty of food for a fresh line of conjecture as I traced my way back to the picture gallery, and from thence successfully to the drawing room, which, as the door was ajar, I could not this time mistake.

“It was large and lofty and dimly lit by shaded lamps; through the rosy gloom I could at first only just make out a slender figure by the hearth; but as I advanced, this was resolved into a singularly graceful woman in clinging, fur-trimmed velvet gown, who, with one hand resting on the high mantelpiece, the other hanging listlessly by her side, stood gazing down at the crumbling wood fire as if in a dream.