In the mean time, Mrs. Ferrari held to her resolution.
She went straight from Mr. Troy's office to Newbury's Hotel.
Lady Montbarry was at home, and alone. But the authorities of the hotel hesitated to disturb her when they found that the visitor declined to mention her name. Her ladyship's new maid happened to cross the hall while the matter was still in debate.
She was a Frenchwoman, and, on being appealed to, she settled the question in the swift, easy, rational French way.
'Madame's appearance was perfectly respectable. Madame might have reasons for not mentioning her name which Miladi might approve.
In any case, there being no orders forbidding the introduction of a strange lady, the matter clearly rested between Madame and Miladi.
Would Madame, therefore, be good enough to follow Miladi's maid up the stairs?'
In spite of her resolution, Mrs. Ferrari's heart beat as if it would burst out of her bosom, when her conductress led her into an ante-room, and knocked at a door opening into a room beyond.
But it is remarkable that persons of sensitively-nervous organisation are the very persons who are capable of forcing themselves (apparently by the exercise of a spasmodic effort of will)into the performance of acts of the most audacious courage.
A low, grave voice from the inner room said, 'Come in.' The maid, opening the door, announced, 'A person to see you, Miladi, on business,' and immediately retired. In the one instant while these events passed, timid little Mrs. Ferrari mastered her own throbbing heart;stepped over the threshold, conscious of her clammy hands, dry lips, and burning head; and stood in the presence of Lord Montbarry's widow, to all outward appearance as supremely self-possessed as her ladyship herself.
It was still early in the afternoon, but the light in the room was dim.
The blinds were drawn down. Lady Montbarry sat with her back to the windows, as if even the subdued daylight were disagreeable to her.
She had altered sadly for the worse in her personal appearance, since the memorable day when Doctor Wybrow had seen her in his consulting-room. Her beauty was gone--her face had fallen away to mere skin and bone; the contrast between her ghastly complexion and her steely glittering black eyes was more startling than ever.
Robed in dismal black, relieved only by the brilliant whiteness of her widow's cap--reclining in a panther-like suppleness of attitude on a little green sofa--she looked at the stranger who had intruded on her, with a moment's languid curiosity, then dropped her eyes again to the hand-screen which she held between her face and the fire. 'I don't know you,' she said. 'What do you want with me?'
Mrs. Ferrari tried to answer. Her first burst of courage had already worn itself out. The bold words that she had determined to speak were living words still in her mind, but they died on her lips.
There was a moment of silence. Lady Montbarry looked round again at the speechless stranger. 'Are you deaf?' she asked.
There was another pause. Lady Montbarry quietly looked back again at the screen, and put another question. 'Do you want money?'
'Money!' That one word roused the sinking spirit of the courier's wife.
She recovered her courage; she found her voice. 'Look at me, my lady, if you please,' she said, with a sudden outbreak of audacity.
Lady Montbarry looked round for the third time. The fatal words passed Mrs. Ferrari's lips.
'I come, my lady, to acknowledge the receipt of the money sent to Ferrari's widow.'
Lady Montbarry's glittering black eyes rested with steady attention on the woman who had addressed her in those terms.
Not the faintest expression of confusion or alarm, not even a momentary flutter of interest stirred the deadly stillness of her face.
She reposed as quietly, she held the screen as composedly, as ever.
The test had been tried, and had utterly failed.
There was another silence. Lady Montbarry considered with herself.
The smile that came slowly and went away suddenly--the smile at once so sad and so cruel--showed itself on her thin lips.
She lifted her screen, and pointed with it to a seat at the farther end of the room. 'Be so good as to take that chair,' she said.
Helpless under her first bewildering sense of failure--not knowing what to say or what to do next--Mrs. Ferrari mechanically obeyed.
Lady Montbarry, rising on the sofa for the first time, watched her with undisguised scrutiny as she crossed the room--then sank back into a reclining position once more. 'No,' she said to herself, 'the woman walks steadily; she is not intoxicated--the only other possibility is that she may be mad.'
She had spoken loud enough to be heard. Stung by the insult, Mrs. Ferrari instantly answered her: 'I am no more drunk or mad than you are!'
'No?' said Lady Montbarry. 'Then you are only insolent?
