"Dear lady," answered Paul, "you imposed on me the only command I could not follow. Surely I may be forgiven, I hope, for entering the Promised Land?" She smiled at him--almost sadly, Paul thought, and then she said, with a far-off look in her wonderful eyes, as if she forgot his presence for the moment-- "It is passing strange--that events should take this turn--that you should have come at this time. There are, I know now, divinities that shape our ends." And then she turned to Paul and said quickly: "What madness has brought you here? My friend, believe me, you should never have followed me. This one day you may stay--because I'm weak--and then, I beg of you, go while there is yet time." The strange iteration of his earlier warning made Paul wonder. "Tell me," he cried, as he looked searchingly into her face, "what hidden meaning lies beneath your words? And those of the red-haired woman at the home of Boris Ivanovitch?" And he repeated to her the other's warning--almost identical with hers. "Oh!" she gasped, and grew quite white, "you did not stay at that house? And yet you are here? Thank God for that." Then, though Paul pressed her, she would say no more. "Come," she said after a brief pause, "my brother is in the library. You must know him." And she led the way through a short passage to a room beyond. A handsome man of about thirty-five, who resembled Mademoiselle strikingly, rose as they entered. "Peter," she said, "this gentleman is Sir Paul Verdayne. He is an old friend of the Countess Oreshefski. I met him at her house in Paris. Sir Paul will be our guest--until to-morrow," she added. The young man grasped Paul's hand warmly. "A friend of the good Countess is most welcome," he exclaimed. "I am only sorry that your stay is to be so short." Clearly, Mademoiselle was determined that Paul should not remain with them long. "Will you pardon me, Sir Paul," the young man continued, "if I leave you on my sister's hands for the moment? Our overseer wishes to see me on a matter of some importance and I shall not be free until luncheon." While he was speaking a large man entered--a wonderfully fine specimen of Russian manhood. As he stood there, proud but respectful, his flaming red beard falling over his broad chest, he looked like some Viking who had just stepped out of an old myth. "Alexander Andrieff, our overseer," Peter explained, and the man bowed low to Paul. "And now, Natalie, if you will entertain Sir Paul for the next hour he will perhaps overlook my rudeness." "Not at all, sir," Paul interrupted, "I am the one who should apologize for having so imposed upon your hospitality." And with Mademoiselle Vseslavitch he retired. So her name was Natalie! Paul liked the name--it seemed to fit her excellently. And he looked lovingly at the charming girl beside him. "We will take a stroll in the garden, if it pleases you," she suggested.