glass,
staring at all the women.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "that little Cinderella over there in
the red skirt wouldn't be bad for the model of a bronze statuette. I
should like her to teach me how to say 'I love you' in the Slav
language."

"Take care," laughed Ivan; "she is betrothed, and her lover is called
a man-eater."

Just then Peter Saffran came out of the tavern. He had received
Evila's money with his own, and offered it to her. She, however,
refused to take it, and the pair went off together in good-humor with
one another. The young girl's hand was upon Peter's arm, and as she
passed the window they heard her singing.

"_Saperlot!_ What a voice!" exclaimed the banker. "Why, she beats
Therese. If she were in Paris--"

He didn't finish his sentence. Ivan lit a cigar, and sat smoking
silently.

CHAPTER V

THE DOCTOR

The next day was Sunday. Ivan took Felix and Raune through the
workmen's colony to show them the dwelling-houses, which were
clustered together like a village. This village had been made by
Ivan's father. The district had been formerly occupied by the very
poorest, who eat nothing but potatoes; but now the miners who lived
here were well-fed and well-lodged. Each pitman had his own cottage
and fruit-garden.

When the three men came to the house in which Evila lived they stood
still and looked into the little yard beyond. They felt obliged to do
so, first, because the door stood open, and secondly, because in the
yard a scene was going on of which they were unseen spectators.

Peter Saffran was beating Evila. The lover held his betrothed by her
long black hair, which fell over her shoulders nearly to the ground.
He had the rich masses gathered up in his left hand and wound round
his wrist, while in his right hand he had a thick plaited cord with
which he struck the poor girl over the shoulders, neck, and back. As
he did so, his eyes expanded until nearly all the white was visible,
his eyebrows almost touched one another, his countenance grew white
with rage, and through his open lips his white teeth looked like those
of an infuriated tiger. At each blow of the rope he growled out--

"So you will have your own way, will you? You will defy me, will you?"

The girl made no protest against her lover's violence. She did not
cry, neither did she beg him to spare her. She pressed her apron to
her lips, and looked at her cruel persecutor with eyes full of the
most divine compass