his shoulders and leaning slightly forward in his seat. As
he began to speak again, Vjera clasped her hands upon her knees and looked
down at the gravel of the public path.

"I am in earnest," he said. "To-morrow, all those rights to which I was
born will be restored to me, and I shall enjoy what the world calls a
great position. Am I so deeply indebted to the world that I must submit to
all its prejudices and traditions? Has the world given me anything, in
exchange for which it becomes my duty to consult its caprices, or its
social superstitions? Surely not. To whom am I most indebted, to the world
which has turned its back on me during a temporary embarrassment and loss
of fortune, or to my friend Vjera who has been faithfully kind all along?
The question itself is foolish. I owe everything to Vjera, and nothing to
the world. The case is simple, the argument is short and the verdict is
plain. I will not take the riches and the dignities which will be mine by
this time to-morrow to the feet of some high-born lady who, to-day, would
look coldly on me because I am not--not quite in the fashion, so far as
outward appearance is concerned. But I will and I do offer all, wealth,
title, dignity, everything to Vjera. And she shakes her head, and with a
single gesture refuses it all. Why? Has she a reason to give? An argument
to set up? A sensible ground for her decision? No, certainly not."

As he looked gravely towards her averted face, Vjera again shook her head,
slowly and thoughtfully, with an air of unalterable determination. He
seemed surprised at her obstinacy and watched her in silence for a few
moments.

"I see," he said at last, very sadly. "You think that I do not love you."
Vjera made no sign, and a long pause followed during which the Count's
features expressed great perplexity.

The day was drawing to its close and the low sun shot level rays through
the trees of the Hofgarten, far above the heads of the laughing children,
the gossiping nurses and the slowly moving crowd that filled the pavement
along the drive in front of the palace. Vjera and the Count were seated on
a bench which was now already in the shade. The air was beginning to grow
chilly, but neither of them heeded the change.

"You think that I do not love you," said the Count again. "You are
mistaken, deeply mistaken, Vjera."

The faint, soft colour rose in the poor girl's waxen cheeks, and there was
an unaccustomed light in her weary blue eyes