"Thank you," answered Netty, without concealing her surprise. "I think
my uncle went out of the larger gate, and it seems impossible to get at
him. Perhaps--"

"Yes," answered Kosmaroff, "I will show you another way with pleasure.
Then that tall gentleman is not your father?"

"No. Mr. Mangles is my uncle," replied Netty, following her companion.

"Ah, that is Mr. Mangles! An American, is he not?"

"Yes. We are Americans."

"A diplomatist?"

"Yes, my uncle is in the service."

"And you are at the Europe. Yes, I have heard of Mr. Mangles. This way;
we can pass through this alley and come to the large gate."

"But you--you are not a Pole? It is so kind of you to help me," said
Netty, looking at him with some interest. And Kosmaroff, perceiving this
interest, slightly changed his manner.

"Ah! you are looking at my clothes," he said, rather less formally. "In
Poland things are not always what they seem, mademoiselle. Yes, I am a
Pole. I am a boatman, and keep my boat at the foot of Bednarska Street,
just above the bridge. If you ever want to go on the river, it is
pleasant in the evening, you and your party, you will perhaps do me the