ey have no real sympathy. Both
these women were conscious of the little rift within the lute, but such
rifts are better treated with silence. That which comes to interfere
with a woman's friendship will not often bear discussion.

At dusk Steinmetz went out. He had an appointment with the starosta.

Paul was sitting in his own room, making a pretence of work, about five
o'clock, when Steinmetz came hurriedly to him.

"A new development," he said shortly. "Come to my room."

Paul rose and followed him through the double doorway built in the
thickness of the wall.

Steinmetz's large room was lighted only by a lamp standing on the table.
All the light was thrown on the desk by a large green shade, leaving the
rest of the room in a semi-darkness.

At the far end of the room a man was standing in an expectant attitude.
There was something furtive about this intruder, and at the same time
familiar to Paul, who peered at him through the gloom.

Then the man came hurriedly forward.

"Ah, Pavlo, Pavlo!" he said in a deep, hollow voice. "I could not expect
you to know me."

He threw his arms around him, and embraced him after the simple manner
of Russia. Then he held him at arm's length.

"Stepan!" said Paul. "No, I did not know you."

Stepan Lanovitch was still holding him at arm's length, examining him
with the large faint blue eyes which so often go with an exaggerated
philanthropy.

"Old," he muttered, "old! Ah, my poor Pavlo! I heard in Kiew--you know
how we outlaws hear such things--that you were in trouble, so I came to
you."

Steinmetz in the background raised his patient eyebrows.

"There are two men in the world," went on the voluble Lanovitch, "who
can manage the moujiks of Tver--you and I; so I came. I will help you,
Pavlo; I will stand by you. Together we can assuredly quell this
revolt."

Paul nodded, and allowed himself to be embraced a second time. He had
long known Stepan Lanovitch of Thors as one of the many who go about the
world doing good with their eyes shut. For the moment he had absolutely
no use for this well-meaning blunderer.

"I am afraid," he said, "that it has got beyond control. We cannot stamp
it out now except by force, and I would rather not do that. Our only
hope is that it may burn itself out. The talkers must get hoarse in
time."

Lanovitch shook his head.

"They have been talking since the days of Ananias," he said, "and they
are not hoarse yet. I fear, Pavlo, there wi