history. I merely record. If I choose to be prepared for that which
may come to pass, that is merely my method of preparing my report. If
nothing happens I report nothing. I have not to say what might have
happened--life is too short to record that. So you see my being in
Warsaw is really of no danger to your father and brother."

"Yes, I see--I see!" answered Wanda. She had only three minutes now. The
door giving access to the platform had long been thrown open. The guard,
in his fine military uniform and shining top-boots, was strutting the
length of the train. "But it was not on account of that that we asked
Monsieur Deulin to warn you. It does not matter about my father and
Martin. It is required of them--a sort of family tradition. It is their
business in life--almost their pleasure."

"It is my business in life--almost my pleasure," said Cartoner, with a
smile.

"But is there no one at home--in England--that you ought to think of?"
in an odd, sharp voice.

"Nobody," he replied, in one word, for he was chary with information
respecting himself.

Wanda had walked towards the platform. Immediately opposite to her
stood a carriage with the door thrown open. In those days there were no
corridor carriages. Two minutes now.

"We must not be seen together on the platform," she said. "I am only
going to the next station. We have a small farm there, and some old
servants whom I go to see."

She stood within the open doorway, and seemed to wait for him to speak.

"Thank you," he said, "for warning me."

And that was all.

"You must go," he added, after a moment's pause.

Still she lingered.

"There is so much to say," she said, half to herself. "There is so much
to say."

The train was moving when Cartoner stepped into a carriage at the back.
He was alone, and he leaned back with a look of thoughtful wonder in his
eyes, as if he were questioning whether she were right--whether there
was much to say--or nothing.

XVII

IN THE SENATORSKA

"It is," said Miss Julie Mangles, "in the Franciszkanska that one lays
one's hand on the true heart of the people."

"That's as may be, Jooly," replied her brother, "but I take it that the
hearts of the women go to the Senatorska."

For Miss Mangles, on the advice of a polyglot concierge, had walked down
the length of that silent street, the Franciszkanska, where the Jews ply
their mysterious trades and where every shutter is painted with
bright images of the w