ted, some added! No woman
could sit silent like that for hours, otherwise. Zara thought of all
these things, as she sat on the rickety chair in the Neville Street
lodging. How she had loathed that whole atmosphere! How she loathed
bohemians and adventurers, no words could tell.

While her mother had lived there had been none of them about. For all
her personal downfall, Elinka, Markrute's sister, and an emperor's
daughter, remained an absolute _grande dame_--never mixing or mingling
with any people but her own belongings.

But now that she was dead, poor Mimo had sometimes gone for company into
a class other than his own.

As yet Zara's thoughts had not turned upon her new existence which was
to be. She had drawn a curtain over it in her mind. She knew but vaguely
about life in England, she had never had any English friends. One or two
gamblers had often come to the Nice villa, but except that they were
better looking types and wore well made clothes, she had classed them
with the rest of her husband's acquaintances. She had read numbers of
English classics but practically no novels, so she could not very well
picture a state of things she was ignorant about. Sufficient for the day
was the evil thereof.

She was getting slightly impatient when at last the two came in.

They had been told of her arrival; she knew that by their glad, hurried
mounting of the stairs and the quick opening of the door.

"Cherisette, Angel! But what joy!" And Mirko hurled himself into her
arms, while Mimo kissed her hand. He never forgot his early palace
manners.

"I have brought you good news," she said, as she drew out two ten-pound
notes. "I have made my uncle see reason. Here is something for the
present. He has such a kind and happy scheme for Mirko's health. Listen,
and I will tell you about it."

They clustered around her while she explained in the most attractive
manner she could the picture of the boy's future, but in spite of all
that, his beautiful little face fell as he grasped that he was to leave
his father.

"It will only be for a time, darling," Zara said, "just until you get
quite well and strong, and learn some lessons. All little boys go to
school, and come home for the holidays. You know _Maman_ would have
wished you to be educated like a gentleman."

"But I hate other boys, and you have taught me so well. Oh! Cherisette,
what shall I do? And to whom play my violin, who will understand?"

"Oh, but Mirko mio, i