As I stood, meditative and silent, a servant entered with a card. She glanced at it, drew a long breath, and exclaimed, “Captain Matvyèich! Show him up!” Closing the little morocco case with a snap, she put it quickly into the pocket of her dress, and replaced the letter in her breast. Scarcely had she rebuttoned her bodice, when Feodor entered, and she went forward to meet him with a smile and an expression of glad welcome. He grasped her hand—the hand that was ordered to deal the death-blow! Then he greeted me, and we seated ourselves before the fire. “Well,” he said, after we had been conversing for several minutes, “this is my last visit here.” “Are you going away?” asked Sophie, in dismay. “Yes, dearest, I start for Moscow to-morrow. I have some important work to perform, and have come to-night to wish you farewell.” “So soon?” she said sorrowfully. “When will you return?” “Perhaps never. I only came here to endeavour to discover a woman whose Christian name was the same as your own.” “What did you want with her?” “To arrest her, and demand her extradition. It was she who killed my predecessor—General Yagodkin.” “Ah, I remember,” I said. “She escaped from Russia.” “Yes, she’s a most dangerous Nihilist, and many recent plots have been due to her inventative genius. If I find her she will go to the gallows.” “Oh, don’t talk of such horrors, Feodor!” exclaimed Sophie, who had turned somewhat pale, and involuntarily shuddered. “How cold it is! I must go and get a shawl.” And she rose and went out. For nearly half an hour she was absent, while Matvyèich and I smoked, drank our whiskys and sodas, and chatted. Then she returned, and together we wished him farewell and _bon voyage_. Several weeks passed. Sophie and I, by means of false passports, had journeyed to Moscow. She had decided to run all risks in warning her lover of his impending danger, and had persuaded me to accompany her, in order to allay suspicion. We had taken up our quarters at the Hôtel de Dresde, and frequented the boulevards and summer gardens daily, in order to meet him alone, for we dare not call at the Bureau of Police. By means only known to the members of our Party we were quickly introduced into the circle of official society, in order that Sophie might complete her mission. One evening we accepted an invitation to dine at the house of a wealthy merchant who lived in the Bolshoi Dmietriefka, having previously ascertained that Feodor Matvyèich was also to be a guest. His surprise and pleasure were unbounded when we met prior to going in to dinner. Sophie looked bewitching and brilliant in a well-fitting evening gown, with her hair dressed in Grecian fashion; but one thing caused me alarm. She wore in her hair the poisoned ornament.