I knew not what to think. * * * * * The scene was, perhaps, one of the most picturesque in Petersburg. After the dust and heat of the August day Mascha, Bounakoff, and myself were sitting at dinner in the beautiful Gardens of Catherinenhoff. With the sunset a cool wind had sprung up from the Neva, rendering Andrejeff’s Restaurant an exceedingly pleasant retreat under the clear sky and brilliant stars. At one of the small _al fresco_ tables we were in the full enjoyment of our meal. It was a band night, and those who have visited the Russian capital know how upon such occasions the Gardens are illuminated and the tables filled by a fashionable throng of men and women. Ivan was sitting at the next table, and we had invited him to join us, but as he had already finished his dinner he was waiting until we commenced to smoke. Those of my readers who have refreshed themselves at Andrejeff’s will remember that one of the tables is placed against a large trellis covered with tangled masses of creepers, which screens it from the gaze of passers-by, and makes it a very cosy nook. It was here that Ivan sat alone, contemplatively smoking a cigarette and sipping from the glass of port beside him, while at our table we chaffed and laughed merrily together. Conversation was general, and the hearty laughter and gay tones of French voices mingled with the guttural exclamations of the Tzar’s subjects as they walked under the linden trees beside the lake, while ever and anon a burst of military music reached us from over the water. As I sat watching the crowd of promenaders two figures that passed engaged my attention. Why, I cannot tell. One was that of a lady, apparently about forty years of age, good-looking, well-preserved, and attired fashionably in a black jet-trimmed evening dress, with a lace mantilla over her head. Alone, she walked past slowly and deliberately, at the same time casting a searching glance in our direction. In the dim half-light I could see she was undeniably handsome, but in a few moments she had passed out of my sight, and I, joining in my companions’ conversation, forgot her. The other figure which followed some minutes later was that of Wanda Waluiski. A few minutes later a lad, son of the _dvornik_ at Ivan’s lodging, brought him some letters, being accompanied by his sister, a bright little girl of ten. The student complimented the child on the way she was dressed, patted her upon the cheek, and gave her some grapes, rewarding the lad with a few kopecks. Then the girl laughed pleasantly, displaying an even row of white teeth, afterwards making a dignified little bow, and turning away with her brother. They had scarcely gone when we were startled by a terrible cry. Turning quickly, we saw that Ivan had risen from his chair, his face flushed and distorted. One hand grasped his wine-glass, while the other clutched convulsively at his throat, for he was choking.