Late that same evening Vera had cause to reiterate Sasha's exclamation that it was well he had come to Moscow.

At ten o'clock there came a loud knocking at the door, and Sasha, peeping out of an upper window, descried a group of three or four persons, French officers as he judged from their talk.

Maximof armed himself with pistol and dagger and placed the two old servants in the entrance hall with orders to keep the visitors covered with their muskets, but not to fire unless specially told to do so. Vera awaited developments in a room adjoining the hall, armed and perfectly composed.

Then Maximof opened the barred door. Three young French officers entered and closed the door behind them. They laughed to see the two old men standing with musket to shoulder.

"Tell them to lower their weapons," said the spokesman in French, addressing Sasha; "I do not speak your infernal language; we mean no harm but only seek information."

"Let me first understand your errand," said Sasha in his best French. "The men will not hurt you except at a word from me."

"Well, then, is this the quarter of Moscow known as the Sloboda?" said the officer. "We are in search of the ladies of the French Theatrical Company, old friends of ours in Paris, who, we are told, dwell in this quarter of the city. Maybe you can direct us. You are, I conclude, a foreigner, or you would be with the army—what we have left of it."

"This is the Sloboda, but I know nothing about your actresses," began Sasha, but to his horror Vera suddenly made her appearance in the hall, coming to the door of the room in which she had stationed herself. The hall was lighted with but a single oil lamp hung over the front door, so that faces were seen but indistinctly.

"It may be that I can enlighten Monsieur," said Vera; "I overheard his request for information. The Governor-General caused the removal of the entire French company three days ago, considering this advisable with a view to their safety. They are not in Moscow."

"Sapristi!" exclaimed the young French officer, who had acted as spokesman; "that is a voice that I know, though it is too dark to distinguish faces. Is it possible that I address Mademoiselle Vera Demidof?" He took a step forward. Sasha instantly barred the way.

"Back, Monsieur," he said. "There is no admittance excepting at Mademoiselle's orders."

Vera had started at the sound of the officer's voice. "Sasha, it is Paul de Tourelle," she said; "there is nothing to fear, let him enter."

"What, and these others also?" asked Sasha.

"I will answer for their good behaviour, Monsieur," said Paul. "Perhaps Mademoiselle will accord me the honour of a few moments conversation while these gentlemen rest themselves in the hall."

"Yes, I will speak with you—come in here!" Vera indicated the room which she had quitted a moment before. Maximof took his stand at the door. He waved his hand to the two old servants. "RebyÁta," he said, "you can lower your muskets but remain here." The two young Frenchmen stood at the stove to warm themselves. Sasha heard their conversation, which they took no pains to conceal from his ears.

"Our little Paul has found a friend it seems," said one, laughing; "he is indeed a wonderful man for the ladies. This will console him for Clotilde's absence."

"Curses upon the Governor-General, he might at least have left us the ladies of the ComÉdie FranÇaise!" said the other. "I had looked forward to seeing my little Jeanne. Maybe the Russian wench was lying, for reasons of her own."

"Beware what you say here, Monsieur," said Sasha angrily, "or your friend may find you no longer waiting when he comes forth."

"Pardon, a thousand pardons, Monsieur; I forgot that you spoke our language," said the officer politely; "do me the favour to regard my foolish words as unsaid."

The conversation was conducted in whispers from this point and Sasha heard no more of it.

Meanwhile Paul de Tourelle, so soon as the door was closed behind him, had made as though he would take Vera's hand and draw her to him, but she waved him away.

"Do not touch me, Monsieur," she said. "I have admitted you only for the purpose of making it clear to you that there can at present be no communication between us. I must regard you as an enemy."

"But, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed Paul, "what is this you say? In Paris we spoke of love; I hasten to Moscow, whither you have gone before me; I find you unexpectedly, and you tell me that I have come in vain. Did I not say that I would meet you in Moscow?"

"And did not I reply that I would rather never see you again than meet you in Moscow? No, Monsieur. I have no heart for love, no thought to spare for such matters, for my whole being is at present absorbed in the sorrows of my dear country. I am glad that I have seen you, since I am now assured of your safety but——

"Come, let me be thankful for the smallest of mercies!" Paul laughed bitterly. "At any rate Mademoiselle is relieved to hear that I am not yet buried beneath the soil of her dear country. We are very far from the point, however, which we discussed, Mademoiselle, in Paris. At that time we spoke of love; now it is sufficient for you that I am alive—parbleu! you are liberal with your favours."

"Monsieur, I will wish you good-night. This conversation can serve no good end. It is true that in Paris you spoke of love; as for me, I spoke of a liking which one day might ripen into love; that day has not yet arrived, Monsieur; at this moment I am inclined to think that it can never dawn; I unsay all that I said in Paris, which you will remember was not much."

Paul burst into loud laughter which had, however, no merriment in it. "I think I understand, Mademoiselle," he said; "the young gentleman who prefers to act as your doorkeeper rather than take his share in withstanding the enemies of your country: he is perhaps the fiancÉ of whom we once spoke, or maybe a nearer friend——"

"Monsieur, I have wished you good-night."

"Oh, but pardon, Mademoiselle, I have not yet finished that which I have to say; perhaps Mademoiselle would prefer if I continued and finished with Monsieur her friend. The matter may be settled without many words."

Vera's face paled a little, but she spoke resolutely. "If Monsieur is wise," she said, "he will not quarrel with Monsieur le Comte Maximof, who is at present acting as my protector in this city of many perils; the servants would not wait to fire their muskets if voices were raised or threats used. Be wise, Monsieur de Tourelle, and take your departure in peace. You have no quarrel with my friend, and none, I trust, with myself."

"Oh, as to yourself, Mademoiselle, I am not deceived; I shall hope to find compensation elsewhere for Mademoiselle's unkindness. But for the other matter, that, with your kind permission, shall be as I choose to decide." Paul bowed and made his exit.

Apparently the decision was for peace. He called to his companions to come away.

"Au revoir, Monsieur," he said to Maximof, at whom he now gazed very fixedly, as though he would make a note of his features; "I have no doubt we shall meet again shortly."

"With all my heart," said Sasha, bowing; "for I shall then request Monsieur to repeat certain words he thought proper to address to me, but now——"

"Monsieur shall have the words repeated," replied Paul, laughing; "come, my friends."

"You did not tell us, Paul, that Moscow contained other objects of familiar interest to you besides Clotilde," his companions observed as the door closed behind the trio and was fastened by Maximof. "She seemed gentile; may we be introduced perhaps?"

"Bah—you would not thank me. They are sour, these Russian women. This one has been in Paris, and is, at least, civilised; but she would visit upon each of you the sin of his Majesty who has declared war upon her country."

"Patriotism is a virtue, I do not dislike that in her; when the war is over you shall make us known to this lady of spirit, Paul," said the other.

"When the war is over," replied Paul, shrugging his shoulders and laughing, "I may want her myself. Remember, both of you, the face of that Russian in plain clothes, and if you should see him about the streets, inform me of it; I have a little bill to settle with my gentleman."

"What, a case of poaching upon preserved ground?" One of Paul's friends laughed, and the other remarked: "Poor little Russian if it comes to accounts with our little Paul de Tourelle! He had better have remained with the army!"