short of a miracle, old fellow," he said, as they
drove off. "I thought you were living quietly at Weymouth; you thought I
was rotting in a French prison, and here we run against each other in
the heart of Russia."

"I can hardly believe even yet that it is you, Julian, you have altered
so tremendously. Thank God, old man, that I have found you."

"Thank God, my dear Frank, that, as I see, that stupid business of mine
has not prevented your entering the army, as I was afraid it would do;
though how you come to be here is more than I can guess."

"I am General Wilson's aide-de-camp, and have been with him all through
the war; and you, Julian, what on earth are you doing here? But first of
all, I suppose you have not heard that you have been cleared completely
of that charge of murder."

Julian's face paled at the sudden news, and he sat for a minute or two
in silence.

"Quite cleared, Frank?" he asked in a low tone; "cleared so that no
doubt remains, and that I can go home without fear of having it thrown
into my face?"

"Completely and entirely," Frank replied. "You were cleared before you
had been gone a day. The coroner's jury brought in an open verdict, but
a warrant was issued against that poacher Markham; and your letter
first, and his confession a year later, completely bore out the evidence
at the inquest, and established his guilt beyond question."

"To think that I should never have known it," Julian said. "If I had
dreamt of it I would have attempted to break out from Verdun, and make
my way home. I don't know that I should have succeeded, but at any rate
I should have tried. But tell me all about it, Frank; my story will keep
just at present."

"You seem to have fallen on your legs, anyhow," Frank remarked. "May I
ask if this is your Imperial Highness's sledge. I have learned something
of the value of furs since I came out here, and that coat of yours is
certainly worth a hundred pounds, and this sable rug as much more."

"It is not my sledge, nor is it my rug, though I have two or three of
them quite as handsome. The coat is my own, the sledge belongs to my
intimate friend Count Woronski, with whom I am at present staying."

"You really must tell me your story first," Frank said, laughing. "Now
that you know you are cleared, you can very well wait to hear all the
details, and I refuse to say a word until you have told me what all this
means."

"Well, Frank," Julian said seriously, "mine is not a