after dark than during the afternoon. Kosmaroff had walked some distance
behind Prince Martin in the streets. Martin unlocked the gate of the
garden and passed in, leaving the gate open with the key in the lock. In
a minute Kosmaroff followed, locked the gate after him, and gave the key
back to its owner on the steps of the garden door of the house, where
Martin was awaiting him, latch-key in hand. They did it without comment
or instruction, as men carry out a plan frequently resorted to.

Martin led the way into the house, along a dimly lighted corridor, to
a door which stood ajar. Outside the night was cold; within were warmth
and comfort. Martin went into the long room. At the far end, beneath the
lamp and near an open wood fire, the prince and Wanda were sitting. They
were in evening dress, and the prince was dozing in his chair.

"I have brought Kos to see you," said Martin, and, turning, he looked
towards the door. The convict's son, the convict, came forward with that
ease which, to be genuine, must be quite unconscious. He apparently gave
no thought to his sandy and wrinkled top-boots, from which the original
black had long since been washed away by the waters of the Vistula. He
wore his working-clothes as if they were the best habit for this or
any other palace. He took Wanda's hand and kissed it in the old-world
fashion, which has survived to this day in Poland. But the careless
manner in which he raised her fingers to his lips would have showed
quite clearly to a competent observer that neither Wanda nor any other
woman had ever touched his heart.

"You will excuse my getting up," said the prince. "My gout is bad
to-night. You will have something to eat?"

"Thank you, I have eaten," replied Kosmaroff, drawing forward a chair.