"Forgive me! I did not give you warning," said the count, shrugging his shoulders and smiling; "permit me! _Princess Anna Chechevinski!_" he continued with emphasis, indicating his poor, decrepit sister. "Of course you would not have recognized her, baroness."
"But _I_ recognized Natasha immediately," said the old woman quietly, her eyes still fixed on Natasha's face.
The baroness suddenly turned as white as a sheet, and with trembling hands caught the back of a heavy armchair.
Kallash with extreme politeness assisted her to a seat.
"You didn't expect to meet me, Natasha?" said the old woman gently and almost caressingly, approaching her.
"I do not know you. Who are you?" the baroness managed to whisper, by a supreme effort.
"No wonder; I am so changed," replied Princess Anna. "But _you_ are just the same. There is hardly any change at all."
"I don't understand you," she said coldly, contracting her brows.
"Allow me, princess," Kallash interrupted her, "permit me to have an explanation with the baroness; she and I know each other well. And if you will pardon me, I shall ask you in the meantime to withdraw."
And he courteously conducted his sister to the massive oak doors, which closed solidly after her.
"What does this mean?" said the baroness, rising angrily, her gray eyes flashing at the count from under her broad brows.
"A coincidence," answered Kallash, shrugging his shoulders with an ironical smile.
"The former mistress has recognized her former maid--that is all."
"How does this woman come to be here? Who is she?"
"I have told you already; Princess Anna Chechevinski. And as to how she came here, that was also a coincidence, and a strange one."
"Why impossible? They say the dead sometimes return from the tomb, and the princess is still alive. And why should the matter not have happened thus, for instance? Princess Anna Chechevinski's maid Natasha took advantage of the confidence and illness of the elder princess to steal from her strong box, with the aid of her sweetheart, Kasimir Bodlevski, money and securities--mark this, baroness--securities in the name of Princess Anna. And might it not happen that this same lithographer Bodlevski should get false passports at the Cave, for himself and his sweetheart, and flee with her across the frontier, and might not this same maid, twenty years later, return to Russia under the name of Baroness von Döring? You must admit that there is nothing fantastic in all this! What is the use of concealing? You see I know everything!"