f
in a great hall furnished with a lavishness which surprised him, in
such an out of the way corner of the world. On the lofty walls hung
priceless old engravings, and paintings on silk, with marvellous
needlework cunningly aiding the artist's brush. Paul had seen such
ancient works of art in the great Continental museums--but never a
collection like this. Bear-skin rugs lay strewn about the floor, and
as he warmed himself at the huge porcelain stove--for it was a cool
morning--he admired them with all the enthusiasm of an ardent
sportsman.

He turned, as a door opened at the further end of the room, and there
at last stood his dear lady. With quick strides Paul reached her and
pressed her hand to his lips. She made no objection to his
salutation--perhaps that custom was too prevalent in her own country
to bear much significance.

As she first gazed at him a glad smile lighted her face--and then she
grew quite sober.

"Ah!" she said, "you have disobeyed. How could you?"

"Dear lady," answered Paul, "you imposed on me the only command I
could not follow. Surely I may be forgiven, I hope, for entering the
Promised Land?"

She smiled at him--almost sadly, Paul thought, and then she said, with
a far-off look in her wonderful eyes, as if she forgot his presence
for the moment--

"It is passing strange--that events should take this turn--that you
should have come at this time. There are, I know now, divinities that
shape our ends." And then she turned to Paul and said quickly:

"What madness has brought you here? My friend, believe me, you should
never have followed me. This one day you may stay--because I'm
weak--and then, I beg of you, go while there is yet time."

The strange iteration of his earlier warning made Paul wonder.

"Tell me," he cried, as he looked searchingly into her face, "what
hidden meaning lies beneath your words? And those of the red-haired
woman at the home of Boris Ivanovitch?" And he repeated to her the
other's warning--almost identical with hers.

"Oh!" she gasped, and grew quite white, "you did not stay at that
house? And yet you are here? Thank God for that." Then, though Paul
pressed her, she would say no more.

"Come," she said after a brief pause, "my brother is in the library.
You must know him." And she led the way through a short passage to a
room beyond.

A handsome man of about thirty-five, who resembled Mademoiselle
strikingly, rose as they entered.

"Peter," she said, "