Count Viroslav bent an aristocratic finger and pulled a conical-shaped plug from the wall. He dropped it onto the top of an ancient, hand-carved Egyptian table and then leaned forward and peered through the hole into the next room.

In the adjoining bedroom he saw a young blond woman holding a tiny black dress against her body and studying herself in a full-length hanging mirror. She turned right and then left, and chewed lightly on her lower lip.

"Charming," he said. "Where did you find her?"

"Them," his wife corrected him. "It was not only she. Her boyfriend is with her. I found them this morning just before dawn on the road from the train station. They've come all the way from Germany. They were very tired, so I told them to rest all day, and they were quite happy to do so. They are Americans, Alexander. Fleeing the Nazi madness in Berlin, they say."

"You do not believe them?"

"I'm not sure. The girl is hiding a secret or two; I can see it in her."

"Well, at least I can practice my English. What is this one's name?"

"Rebecca."

Rebecca seemed to make up her mind. She reached for a hanger and draped the dress over it, then hung it from the edge of the mirror. With an unaware innocence she reached for the top button of her blouse and undid it. The count watched as her throat was bared, her fingers moving rapidly downward, pulling wooden buttons through tiny holes, releasing the tension imposed by the white cotton stretched tight across her chest. When the final button was loosened and the lapels fell free, a piece of brilliant white lace flashed in the mirror.

The count's eye widened perceptibly.

"So you approve?"

He looked at his wife. "She wears decent lingerie, at least. The last one had on something like a hair shirt."

The countess smiled, and he turned back to the hole. "Denyse, you mean," she said. "A peasant girl. But as I recall it had been a very long time."

"Yes. It had been a long time." He watched Rebecca shrug out of the blouse and toss it out of his view. Now her back was bare except for the straps of her brassiere. The count's nostrils flared slightly.

Next, Rebecca unzipped her skirt. She put her hands on the waist of the garment, and was just about to pull it down over her hips, when suddenly she stopped and turned around toward the wall. Her eyes searched the room suspiciously and she frowned. The count smiled. It was not the first time his presence had been felt. But he knew she would never find the peephole in the elaborate design of the cubist painting that housed it.

"And the boy?" he said. "How did you find him?"

"He was with her."

"That is not what I meant."

The countess' eyelids raised a little and her chest expanded slightly as she took a deep breath. "He is tall, blond-haired, and boyishly good-looking. He reminds me a bit of the young Marquis de Sade the year we met Napoleon. His name is Richard. He has a small scar on his left hip. Otherwise, perfect."

Again the count pulled back from the mirror and turned to regard his wife. "How did you get him to undress completely?"

She shrugged, pleased with herself. "I spilled some tea in his lap and then sent him to his room."

"They did not wish to sleep together?"

"Perhaps you have forgotten what year it is. It is no longer the eighteenth century, Alexander. In this new century things are done quite differently."

His eyes narrowed coldly, and his voice took on an edge. "I have not forgotten what century it is, my dear. But regardless of what age, a young man and a young woman should want to sleep together."

Maria hesitated. "I'm sure they did, but I gave them the impression we were terribly proper. It was the only way they would not be afraid of coming here."

He looked back. Rebecca had already removed the skirt and was stepping into the black dress. The count swore silently, but as she stood up straight and began pulling the shoulder straps upward, he held his breath. Her breasts, he was delighted to see, were firm and perfectly proportional to her body, the nipples large and erect.

"Has she changed yet?" the countess asked.

Rebecca pulled the zipper up the back of the dress and examined herself in the mirror. She looked smashing, and she knew it. The count saw a slight smile cross her face.

"Yes." He stepped back from the wall and replaced the plug. Then he walked over to his wife. "And what are you going to wear, darling?" he said.

"All white, of course." She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.