At that moment Bob noticed her, and nodding towards her, whispered, "By Jove! old fellow, who'd have thought of meeting the fair Russian? The world isn't so large, after all. Shall you go up and speak?" I glanced upwards in hesitation. She was leaning from the box, the diamonds in her hair flashing under the gaslight, and she beckoned anxiously. This decided me, and I went in search of her, with a feeling--half of the old love, and half of a newly-born distrust. I was not long in finding her box, and as I entered, her maid, who was her only companion, went out. Retiring into the shadow, so as not to be observed by the people below, she stretched forth her hand and, with a glad smile, exclaimed, "At last, Frank--_quel plaisir_!" I drew back, and was ungallant enough not to take the proffered hand, for had I not been duped by her and nearly lost my liberty and life? "Ah!" she said in a hoarse whisper, "it is as I expected, Frank--we are no longer friends." "Why should we be?" "I know I am unworthy a thought, having acted as basely as I did; but it was not my fault. It could not be avoided," she said, casting her eyes to the floor. "And that is the way you reciprocate my affection! You send me upon an errand so dangerous that it nearly costs me my life!" I remarked, bitterly. "No, no! Do not judge me harshly," she pleaded, laying her hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking into my face imploringly. "Wait until I can explain before you condemn me. I know you think me a scheming, cold-hearted adventuress; perhaps I was when I met you; but now--it is different." "Vera," I said, endeavouring to be firm, "it pains me, but I must put an end to this interview. I was foolish to seek you thus, but it was only to confront you for the last time that I obeyed. I have loved you fondly, madly, but you have--there--I could never trust you again; so, for the future, we must be as strangers." "You are cruel, Frank," she said, the tears welling in her eyes. "It is merciless of you not to hear my version of the matter, although I own appearances are much against me. The vilest criminal is allowed to make a defence; surely you will not debar me from it!" She looked beseechingly at me, her face blanched and betraying the struggle going on within. "But you cannot tell me here," I said, somewhat softened by her repentance. "No; my uncle will be out to-morrow evening, come to me then," she replied, producing a visiting card, upon which she scribbled an address. "We are living at Richmond. If you cannot come, may I meet you?" Taking the card, I said, "Very well, you shall explain matters if you wish. I will call to-morrow." "_Do_," she implored; "I am sure I shall be able to satisfy you that I am not so very much to blame." We then shook hands and parted, for the orchestra having finished playing, the curtain had risen, and the theatre was too quiet to allow further conversation.