adjoining apartment, he frowns and blows out the match. Coming to the
circular table, he contemplates the preparation for his reception with
distaste; then, flinging the match into the ash-tray, he sits, with a
set, determined look upon his face. After another short pause, the_
DUCHESS _returns, polishing a tumbler with a cambric handkerchief._ QUEX
_rises._

DUCHESS.

[_Under her breath._] Ah! [_He bows stiffly. She places the tumbler on
the tray, tosses the handkerchief aside, and--first motioning him to
stand away from the line of the door--opens the door, removes the ribbon
from the handle, closes and locks it. Then she turns to him with a
long-drawn sigh._] Ah--h--h!

QUEX.

[_Coming down gloomily._] Is it all right?

DUCHESS.

Quite. [_Advancing to him with outstretched hands._] Welcome, Harry! oh,
welcome!

QUEX.

[_Retreating a few steps--firmly._] One moment. I have something to ask
of you, Sidonia. [_Looking round._] You are sure--?

DUCHESS.