The dinner party was a large one, and Matvyèich sat between myself and my “sister.” Over the meal we chatted merrily, she explaining how, owing to financial business connected with her late father’s estate, she had been compelled to travel to Russia. After we had joined the ladies in the drawing-room I saw her in earnest conversation with him, and noticed that they presently walked together into an adjoining room, which was unoccupied. From her movements and agitated manner I surmised that the time had come when she intended to warn him, therefore I followed noiselessly, and overheard their conversation. “Well, _ma chère_, what is this great secret of yours?” he asked, smiling and balancing himself upon the edge of the table. “Hush!” she whispered. “Some one may hear us. If they did, it would be fatal.” “What do you mean? Why all this mystery?” “I mean that you are condemned to die!” “To die?” “Yes. You will die in the same manner as General Yagodkin. The Nihilists have condemned you.” “Tell me—how do you know?” he asked, breathlessly excited, and pale with alarm. “Hush!” she urged. “Speak lower. I—I know you love me, Feodor. I have not forgotten your words when in London. You asked me to be your wife; but, alas! I can never be more to you than what I am—a friend—although we love one another so well.” Her voice faltered as she spoke; the last words of the sentence were almost lost in choking sobs. “And why?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her head down upon his gold-braided uniform coat. She shuddered, gently disengaging herself from his embrace. “Listen,” she said, in a hoarse, fierce whisper. “I have journeyed here, to Moscow, on purpose to warn you of your danger. I leave to-night, and you will never again see me. I am here at great risk, for my life would be taken by the Terrorists if they knew I had given you warning; whereas, if the Bureau of the Third Section knew of my presence on Russian soil, they would undoubtedly arrest me.” “Who, then, are you?” asked the Captain, in surprise. “You know me, surely?” she answered, with a harsh, strained laugh. At that moment I heard voices behind me, and, turning quickly, saw three police officers in uniform at the door. “There she is!” cried one. “I recognise her.” “Yes; let us enter.” Brushing past me, the men unceremoniously burst into the room. “What means this intrusion?” demanded Matvyèich fiercely. The men saluted, but before they could explain a grey-headed man in ordinary dress pushed forward, and, walking up to my “sister,” exclaimed— “Sophie Zagarovna! I arrest you for murder, by order of our Imperial Master, the Tzar!” “_Dieu!_” cried the Chief of Secret Police. “Sophie Zagarovna! You—you must be mistaken.”