at. Martin had turned now though he was still far away.
She looked towards him, still thinking rapidly. He was a man of honor.
She knew that. She had fully gauged the honor of more than one man;
had found it astonishingly reliable. The honor of women was quite
a different question. That which Prince Martin said in the day
of adversity he would assuredly adhere to in other circumstances.
"Besides--" And she smiled a thoughtful smile of conscious power as she
bent her head to rebutton her jacket and arrange her furs.

She tore the letter into small pieces and threw it behind the heap of
snow at the back of the seat upon which she sat. Then she rose, looked
at the bunch of violets still lying where she had laid them, and walked
slowly away. She glanced over her shoulder at the old man sitting
beneath the leafless trees at the other side of the broad avenue. He sat
huddled within the high collar of his coat and heeded nothing. There was
no one near to the seat that she had just vacated, and Martin was now
going towards it. She hurried to the Saxon Palace, and as she passed
beneath its arches turned just in time to see Martin bend over the stone
seat and take up his talisman. He did it without disguise or haste.
Any one may pick up a flower, especially one that has been dropped by a
pretty girl.

Martin walked on, and turned to the left down the path that leads to the
Kotzebue gate.

Then the old man on the seat nearly opposite to that upon which Netty
had been sitting seemed to arouse himself from the lethargy of misery.
He turned his head within his high collar, and watched Martin until
he was out of sight. Netty had disappeared almost at once beneath the
arches of the covered passages of the palace.

After a pause the old man rose, and crossing the pathway, sat down
on the seat vacated by Netty. He waited there a few minutes until the
passers-by had their backs turned towards him, and there was no one near
enough to notice his movements. Then he stepped, nimbly enough, across
the bank of gray snow, and collected the pieces of the letter which
Netty had thrown there. He brought them back to the stone seat and
spread them out there, like parts of a puzzle. He was, it seemed, an
expert at such things; for in a moment he had them in order, and had
pieced together the upper half of the paper. Moreover, he must have been
a linguist; the note was written in English, and this Warsaw waif of the
public gardens seemed to read i