decision. "She is either a queen or a criminal," a physiognomist would
have said after observing her face. A gentleman with a red beard, whom
the lady addressed as "brother," not less elegantly dressed, and with
the same expression of subtlety and decision. They left the station in
a hired carriage, and drove to Demuth's Hotel.

Before narrating the adventures of these distinguished persons, let us
go back twenty years, and ask what became of Natasha and Bodlevski.
When last we saw them the ship that carried them away from Russia was
gliding across the Gulf of Bothnia toward the Swedish coast. Late in
the evening it slipped into the port of Stockholm, and the worthy
Finn, winding in and out among the heavy hulls in the harbor--he was
well used to the job--landed his passengers on the wharf at a lonely
spot near a lonely inn, where the customs officers rarely showed their
noses. Bodlevski, who had beforehand got ready the very modest sum to
pay for their passage, with pitiable looks and gestures and the few
Russian phrases the good Finn could understand, assured him that he
was a very poor man, and could not even pay the sum agreed on in full.
The deficit was inconsiderable, some two rubles in all, and the good
Finn was magnanimous; he slapped his passenger on the shoulder, called
him a "good comrade," declared that he would not press a poor man, and
would always be ready to do him a service. He even found quarters for
Bodlevski and Natasha in the inn, under his protection. The Finn was
indeed a very honest smuggler. On the next morning, bidding a final
farewell to their nautical friend, our couple made their way to the
office of the British Consul, and asked for an opportunity to speak
with him. At this point Natasha played the principal rôle.

"My husband is a Pole," said the handsome girl, taking a seat opposite
the consul in his private office, "and I myself am Russian on the