t to the bed and shook her warmly by the hand.

"My wife tells me you are recovering from the shock. The doctor
assures me you will be yourself again to-morrow. I am only too pleased
that my house should be your refuge. And you want to know all that has
happened since your rascally brother had you drugged and thrust into
that carriage."

He drew forward the shrinking man, hovering shamefacedly in the
background.

"Here is your preserver, Nada." He always called her by her Christian
name; he had known her from a child. "You see, he is a common man,
dressed in rough clothes, his face and hands proclaiming his calling.
But he is your preserver, and you will thank him."

He spoke with that half-humorous, half-cynical smile which was almost
characteristic.

Corsini nervously advanced to the bed on which the Princess was lying
and recovering her scattered senses.

"You are safe, dear lady," he said, softly. "Thank Heaven you are
safe."

She recognised the voice. She penetrated through the veil of the rough
clothes, the stained face and hands. She uttered a little joyful cry.

"Ah, Signor Corsini, it is you who are my preserver?"

Corsini bent over her. "It has been my turn, Princess. You saved me at
Pavlovsk, I have paid back my debt in St. Petersburg."

The Princess's wondering eyes grew bigger. "But tell me all that has
happened. I am dying with curiosity."

Golitzine touched his wife on the shoulder. "We are _de trop_, my
dear, let us leave the young people together."

The Countess was a very obedient wife. She accompanied her husband out
of the room; but when they were outside she whispered to him: "Alexis,
is it wise? Nada is a girl of high birth but of romantic notions.
Corsini is, no doubt, very talented, but is it prudent to leave them
together?"

"Listen to me; I am going to impart to you a little secret," said the
Count in a low voice. "To-morrow the house of Zouroff will be humbled
in the dust. Our pretty little Nada can then well choose where her
heart leads her to make her choice, even if it is in the direction of
our young friend, Nello Corsini."

"I think I understand," said the Countess.

In the big chamber, Katerina, recovering more slowly than her
mistress, was reclining on the sofa. A tall, white-capped nurse stood
in the corner.

Nada, of course, paid no heed to servants. They were a part of her
being, to be ignored at will. For all practical purposes she and
Corsini were alone.

"A