She buried her head upon his breast and put a little hot hand into his own. A great tenderness toward her filled his whole being and brought a sense of happiness very foreign to him lately. How gentle and kindly this little waif of fortune had ever been. And how even those few weeks of a better schooling had improved her. She had shed all the old vulgarities--she was just a simple schoolgirl as he would have wished her to be. "We are never right to be ashamed before those who love us," Alban said kindly; "you did not write to me and how was I to know what had happened? Of course, your father told you what I had been doing and why I went away from Union Street? It was all his kindness. I know it now and I have come to Russia to thank him--when he is free. That won't be very long now that I have found you. They were frightened of you, Lois--they thought you were going to betray their secrets to the Revolutionary party. I knew that you would not do so--I said so all along." She looked up at him with glowing eyes, and putting her lips very close to his ear she said: "I loved you, Alb--I never could have told them while I loved you--not even to save my father, and God knows how much I love him. Did not they say that you were very happy with Mr. Gessner? There would have been no more happiness if I had told them." "And that is what kept you silent, Lois?" She would not answer him, but hiding her face again, she asked him a question which surprised him greatly. "Do you know why the police wished to arrest me, Alb dear?" "How could I know that, Lois?" "It was the Count who told them to do so. He is only deceiving you, dear. He does not want to release my father and will never do so. If I were in prison too, he thinks that Mr. Gessner would be quite safe. Do not trust the Count if you would help us. My people understand him and they will punish him some day. He has done a great wrong to many in Warsaw, and he deserves to be punished. You must remember this, dear, when he promises my father's freedom. He is not telling you the truth--he is only asking you to punish me." "But, Lois, what have you done, what charge can they bring against a little schoolgirl?" "I am my father's daughter," she said proudly, "that is why they would punish me. Oh, you don't know, dear. Even the little children are criminals in Warsaw. My father escaped from Saghalen and I have no right to live in Russia. When he sent me to school here, I did not come under my own name, they called me Lois Werner and believed I was a German. Then my people heard that Count Sergius wished to have me arrested, and they took me away from the school and brought me here. Herr Petermann is one of my father's oldest friends. He has saved a great many who would be in prison but for his kindness. We can trust Herr Petermann, dear--he will never betray us."