The sun had set, and it was growing dusk as I left the _estaminet_. I had just emerged from the wood and turned into the high-road when I perceived, about a hundred paces from me, a figure rapidly approaching. I slipped behind a tree and watched its progress. It was that of a tall, slender girl, exquisitely graceful, with rounded throat and arms, her dark, wavy hair drawn back from her brow, a flawless complexion, and handsome brown eyes. As she passed I recognised her as Natalya Lebedeff, daughter of a prominent member of our Organisation, who, about four years before, had fled from Russia and taken refuge in Paris, where he now kept a tobacconist’s in the Rue d’Amsterdam, close to the St. Lazare terminus. The road that she followed was bordered with oak-trees and quickset hedges. I walked after her cautiously, for I was curious to know what had brought her to St. Germain. After making several turns, the road sloped gently towards a stone bridge thrown across the small stream. Close by was a hamlet built upon the side of a hill, and surrounded by walnut-trees, while the green waters, bubbling over the pebbles that formed its bed, rushed onwards towards the Seine. Upon the bridge stood Gaston, and she moved directly towards him. When they met she did not take the hand he offered. Withdrawing it quickly, he said, “You are right, Natalya, I am a villain!” The words seemed to come from his inmost heart. Then he continued, “Spurn me from you, as I deserve. I scarcely expected that you would come from Paris to keep the appointment. Here are the papers; do what you please with them.” As he finished speaking she shook her head. “I have forgiven all,” the girl said. Eagerly seizing the papers, and folding them small, she placed them in the pocket of her dress. She shivered slightly as they walked together. The path they entered followed the course of the stream and led down to the river. They were silent, absorbed in thought. One seemed filled with grief, remorse, and expectation; the other felt her destiny weighing heavily upon her, and thought she heard within the woods the agitated beating of a heart which was kept in motion only by its fears. From my hiding-place I watched them disappear in the fast-falling gloom; then I turned and hurried to Le Pecq, where I arrived just in time to catch a train for Paris. An hour later, while walking down the Rue de Monceau on my way to my unpretentious hotel in the Rue de Lisbonne, I passed General Martianoff. He was in evening dress, and walking away from the house in which he lived, evidently on his way to dine. Then a thought suddenly occurred to me, and, after a moment’s hesitation, I turned down the Avenue de Messine to the corner house on the boulevard.