It need scarcely be said with what surprise Alban listened to this lengthy recital. Some part of the truth had already been made known to him--but this fuller account could not but flatter his vanity while it left him silent in his amazement and perplexity. Richard Gessner, he understood, had always desired a brilliant match for Anna, and had sought an alliance with some of the foremost English families. If he abandoned these ambitions, a shrewd belief in the impossibility lay at the root of his determination. Anna would never marry as he wished. Her birthright and her Eastern blood forbade it. She would be the child of whim and of passion always, and it lay upon him to avert the greater evil by the lesser. Alban in a vague way understood this, but of his own case he could make little. What a world of ease and luxury and delight these few simple words opened up to him. He had but to say "yes" to become the ultimate master of this man's fortune, the possessor of a heritage which would have been considered fabulous but fifty years ago. And yet he would not say "yes." It was as though some unknown power restrained him, almost as though his own brain tricked him. Of Anna's sudden passion for him he had no doubt whatever. She was ready and willing to yield her whole self to him and would, it might be, make him a devoted wife. None the less, the temptation found him vacillating and incapable even of a clear decision. Some voice of the past called to him and would not be silenced. Maladroitly, he gave no direct reply, but answered the question by another. "Did Paul Boriskoff tell you that I was about to marry his daughter, Mr. Gessner?" "My dear lad, what Paul Boriskoff said or did can be of little interest to you or me to-night. He is no longer in England, let me tell you. He left for Poland three days ago." "Then you saw him or heard from him before he left?" "Not at all. The less one sees or hears from that kind of person the better. You know the fellow and will understand me. He is a firebrand we can well do without. I recommended him to go to Poland and he has gone. His daughter, I understand, is being educated at Warsaw. Let me advise you to forget such acquaintances--they are no longer of any concern to either of us." He waved his hand as though to dismiss the subject finally; but his words left Alban strangely ill at ease. "Old Paul is a fanatic," he said presently, "but a very kindly one. I think he is very selfish where his daughter is concerned, but he loves his country and is quite honest in his opinions. From what I have heard in Union Street, he is very unwise to go back to Poland. The Russian authorities must be perfectly well aware what he has done in London, and are not likely to forget it. Yes, indeed, I am sorry that he has been so foolish."