ght inclination with her
head, in answer to our salutation. I pushed aside the heavy curtain,
and we went out. Cutter had a pass-key to the heavy door in the passage,
and opened it and closed it noiselessly behind us. I felt as though I
had been in a dream, as we emerged into the dimly lighted great hall,
where a huge fire burned in the old-fashioned fireplace, and Fang, the
white deerhound, lay asleep upon the thick rug.

"And now, Mr. Griggs," said the professor, stopping short and thrusting
his hands into his pockets, "will you tell me what she said to you, and
whether she gave any signs of intelligence?" He faced me very sharply,
as though to disconcert me by the suddenness of his question. It was a
habit he had.

"She said very little," I replied. "She said that 'Paul' was dead. Was
that her husband's name as well as her son's?"

"Yes. What else?"

"She told me she had no son; and when I reminded her that she had seen
him that very afternoon, she laughed and answered, 'I tell you I have no
son,--why do you torment me?' She said all that in Russian. As I was
going away you heard her ask me who I was, in English. My name appeared
to amuse her."

"Yes," assented Cutter, with a smile. "Was that all?"

"That was all she said," I answered, with perfect truth. Somehow I did
not care to tell the professor of the look I thought I had seen in her
face when her eyes rested on him. In the first place, as he was doing
his best to cure her, it seemed useless to tell him that I thought she
disliked him. It might have been only my imagination. Besides, that
nameless, undefined suspicion had crossed my brain that Madame Patoff
was not really mad; and though her apparently meaningless words might
have been interpreted to mean something in connection with her
expression of face in speaking, it was all too vague to be worth
detailing. I had determined that I would see her again and see her
alone, before long. I might then make some discovery, or satisfy myself
that she was really insane.

"Well," observed the professor, "it looks as though she remembered her
husband's death, at all events; and if she remembers that, she has the
memory of her own identity, which is something in such cases. I think
she faintly recognized you. That flush that came into her face was there
when she saw her son this afternoon, so far as I can gather from
Carvel's description. I wish they had waited for me. This remark about
her son is very curious,