woman's hand could cope with him,--that was too preposterous. Wogan felt
very much inclined to sweep that curtain aside and tell his visitor how
he had escaped from Newgate and played hide-and-seek amongst the
chimney-pots. And although he restrained himself from that, he allowed
his anger to get the better of his prudence. Under the impulse of his
anger he acted. It was a whimsical thing that he did, and though he
suffered for it he could never afterwards bring himself to regret it. He
deliberately knelt down and kissed the instep of the foot which
protruded from the curtain. He felt the muscles of the foot tighten, but
the foot was not withdrawn. The curtain shivered and shook, but no cry
came from behind it, and again the curtain hung motionless. Wogan went
out of the room and carried the letter to the Prince. The Countess of
Berg was still playing upon her harp, and she gave no sign that she
remarked his entrance. She did not so much as shoot one glance of
curiosity towards him. The Prince carried the letter off to his cabinet,
while Wogan sat down beside the Countess and looked about the room.

"I have not seen Lady Featherstone this evening," said he.

"Have you not?" asked the Countess, easily.

"Not so much as her foot," replied Wogan.

The conviction came upon him suddenly. Her hurried journey to Bologna
and her presence at Ohlau were explained to him now by her absence from
the room. His own arrival at Bologna had not remained so secret as he
had imagined. The fragile and gossamer lady, too flowerlike for the
world's rough usage, was the woman who had spied in his room and who had
possessed the courage to stand silent and motionless behind the curtain
after her presence there had been discovered. Wogan had a picture before