ing about him, and
stood before the mirror examining himself. At the first glance he
laughed out loud; then he clapped his hand over his mouth, listening
again. But he was alone, and the form reflected in the mirror was his
own, no shadow behind. He snatched up the lamp and held it close to
the glass, peering at himself from the crown of his close-cropped head
to the patch on his boot. He gazed at the scarf admiringly; it was red
with tassels, and he patted it with his free hand.

"That is how they do it!" he cried softly, laughing. "It is perfect.
I don't know myself! Ha ha!--I would cheat my own shadow. If the door
should open now, and Galitsin should come in--the ox! How he would
stare! And Bobo, poor devil, he would take me for a thief in my own
Studio.--God, what is that?--a step on the stairs! The police! They
come preying like beasts and seize one at night. She told me!"

The gypsey's hand trembled and shook, and the wick of the lamp flared
up. Great heaven! The step crept nearer--it was at the door--the door
moved! It was opening!

He dropped the lamp with a crash; the light went out and he staggered
back against the wall, clutching his scarf, straining his ears to hear
in the darkness.

The door opened wider.

Some one slipped through it and closed it again, and the step came
nearer, creaking on the boards. He heard the soft patter of hands
feeling their way, the faint sound of a breath. It was worse than in
the carriage, because the room was so large and the matches were on the
table, far off. There was no way of seeing, or feeling. The step came
nearer.

If it was a spy, he could grapple with him and throw him. The gypsey
took a step forward towards the other step, and all of a sudden two
bodies came together, grappling, wrestling. Two cries went up, the one
loud, the other faint like an echo.

"Hush, it is I, Velasco! You are soft like a woman! Your hair--It is
you, Kaya! It is you! I know your voice--your touch! Did you hear
the lamp crash? Wait! Let me light a candle."

He stumbled over to the table, feeling his way, clutching the soft
thing by the arm, the shoulder.

"It is you, Kaya, tell me, it is you! Damn the match, it is damp, how
it sputters!--Put your face close, let me see it. Kaya! Is it you,
yourself?"

The two faces stared at one another in the flickering light, almost
touching; then the other sprang back with a cry of dismay.

"You are a gypsey, yo