the threshold. Contrary
to custom, the room was dark. The old-fashioned chandelier in the centre
of the large, bare apartment glittered in the light of the gas-jet in
the passage. Netty knew that there were matches on the square china
stove opposite to the door, which stood open. She crossed the room, and
as she did so the door behind her, which was on graduated hinges, swung
to. She was in the dark, but she knew where the stove was.

Suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. There was some one in the
room. The soft and surreptitious footstep of a person making his way
cautiously to the door was unmistakable. Netty tried to speak--to ask
who was there. But her voice failed. She had read of such a failure in
books, but it had never been her lot to try to speak and to find herself
dumb until now.

Instinctively she turned and faced the mysterious and terrifying sound.
Then her courage came quite suddenly to her again. Like many diminutive
persons, she was naturally brave. She moved towards the door, her small
slippers and soft dress making no sound. As the fugitive touched the
door-handle she stretched out her hand and grasped a rough sleeve.
Instantly there was a struggle, and Netty fought in the dark with some
one infinitely stronger and heavier than herself. That it was a man she
knew by the scent of tobacco and of rough working-clothes. She had one
hand on the handle, and in a moment turned it and threw open the door.
The light from without flooded the room, and the man leaped back.

It was Kosmaroff. His eyes were wild; he was breathless. For a moment
he was not a civilized man at all. Then he made an effort, clinched his
hands, and bit his lips. His whole demeanor changed.

"You, mademoiselle!" he said, in broken English. "Then Heaven is
kind--Heaven is kind!"

In a moment he was at her feet, holding her two hands, and pressing
first one and then the other to his lips. He was wildly agitated, and
Netty was conscious that his agitation in some way reached her. In all
her life she had never known what it was to be really carried away until
that moment. She had never felt anything like it--had never seen a man
like this--at her feet. She dragged at her hands, but could not free
them.

"I came," he said--and all the while he had one eye on the passage to
see that no one approached--"to see you, because I could not stay away!
You think I am a poor man. That is as may be. But a poor man can love as
well as a rich m