quite acceptably to Sofia's notion of what was becoming to the condition of
a prince in exile--who naturally would live quietly, in view of the recent
revolution in Russia.

Without augmented fears, then, though still on the alert for anything that
might seem questionable, and more agitated with excitement than she let him
suspect, Sofia permitted Mr. Karslake to conduct her to the door.

He had barely touched the bell-button when this door opened, revealing a
vista of spacious entrance-hall.

To one side stood a manservant to whom Sofia paid no attention till the
sound of his name on Karslake's tongue struck an echo from her memory.
"Thanks, Nogam. Prince Victor home yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Tell him, please, when he comes in, we're waiting in the study."

"'Nk-you, sir."

The servant was the man whom Karslake had met in the Café des Exiles only a
few hours before. Catching Sofia's quick, questioning glance, Nogam paused
at respectful attention. And, even then, she was struck again with his
fidelity to the rôle in the social system for which Life had cast him. In
the café, that afternoon, he had cut a mildly incongruous figure,
unpretending but alien to that atmosphere; here, in the plain evening-dress
livery of his station, he blended perfectly into the picture.

Karslake gave his hat and stick to the man, then opened one wing of a great