behind which, in spite of all his reticence, could be divined a
haughty and exceptional nature. A more profound psychologist would
have seen in him an obstinately passionate, ungrateful nature, which
takes from others everything it desires, demanding it from them as a
right and without even a nod of acknowledgment. Such was Count
Nicholas Kallash.

A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von
Döring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at
which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former name,
Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he had met on
the day following the reception our old friend Sergei Antonovitch
Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band." Their recognition was
mutual, and, after a more or less faithful recital of the events of
the intervening years, they had entered into an offensive and
defensive alliance.

When Baroness von Döring was comfortably settled in her new quarters,
Sergei Antonovitch brought a visitor to Bodlevski: none other than the
Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas Kallash.

"_Gentlemen, you are strangers_; let me introduce you to each other,"
said Kovroff, presenting Count Kallash to Bodlevski.

"Very glad to know you," answered the Hungarian count, to Bodlevski's
astonishment in Russian; "very glad, indeed! I have several times had
the honor of hearing of you. Was it not you who had some trouble about
forged notes in Paris?"

"Oh, no! You are mistaken, dear count!" answered Bodlevski, with a