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If she was astonished at my confession or angry at it, she gave no sign of either feeling.

“That is a very serious confession,” she said, speaking very slowly. “Very serious. When did you decide to make it?”

“This morning, realizing the present impasse.”

“It is very ingenious, at any rate.” Her tone was sarcastic now. “It did not occur to you to speak of such a—such a trifle last night.”

There was still no anger in the glance she gave me.

“Frankly, I was too overwhelmed for the time by the possible consequences. But this morning I saw that the truth was at once the simplest and best way out.”

“The necessity for the—truth was a little late in emphasizing itself, don’t you think?”

“It seems so to you, no doubt; but I was on the horns of a very awkward dilemma.”

“And Prince Kalkov?”

“Of course he knows it. I came at his instigation.”

“And so you are really an American, and were in Russia as a boy, with your father a diplomatist; and you have been in Germany and France, and speak the languages without any of that horrible English accent; and you understand Russian; and you came here from the Palace; and were driven to the Palace the other evening, having been received with a guard of honour; and you are the living image of our Emperor. Do you know the Emperor, M. American?”