She fancied she knew Ivor Tolskoi's life from Alpha to Omega, that there was not a page of his daily existence that was not open to her inspection, and yet she in reality knew nothing; not even his daily avocations, beyond the light ones imposed upon him by Court regulations, and never dreamed that he was one of the most vigilant and most active members in the secret service of the Chancellerie. Indeed, Ivor Tolskoi's boyish face and youthful laugh seemed incompatible with intrigue and surveillance; and Ivor knew this, and took good care to play both his rôles with diplomatic _finesse_ and success. "And so, Ivor," Olga was saying in her clear, cold voice, "you really believe that that wretched woman of the _bourgeoisie_ had a hand in the murder of poor Stevan Lallovich? Upon my word, to what heights will the _canaille_ next aspire, if even a Prince of Russia is not safe from the stab of a knife in the hand of a red republican? Do you think she murdered him, Ivor?" "Ah," replied Tolskoi, "you put a blunt question, Mdlle. Naundorff," for though Olga addressed him with the familiarity of a sister, Ivor never so far forgot himself as to reply in like manner. "How dare one express any opinion on any subject in these days of treachery, since the very walls have ears and the very doors speak? And even should you press me, mademoiselle, I could not answer; I never have any opinion on any subject more important than a ball cotillon; _c'est trop de peine_." And Ivor threw back his head and laughed, his full and hearty peal, at sound of which several of the other guests of the _salon_ stopped their idle occupations and laughed in sympathy. But Olga frowned and beat her pointed slipper impatiently against the foot-stool on which it rested. "Don't be silly, Ivor," she said; "and don't laugh so loud, you will have old Madame Bettcheriski down upon us for breach of etiquette. When will you cease to be such a boy?" "When I cease to sun myself in your smiles, mademoiselle," replied the young man, gallantly, and with a half-mocking bow. "When that unhappy day dawns for me I shall take leave of my youth for ever, and seeing it fall from me, grow as 'grave and reverend a signior' as Count Vladimir himself." To this allusion to her absent lover, Olga made no rejoinder save by a scarcely perceptible upward movement of her head. She waited a moment before she spoke again, and in the silence that fell between them, there floated across the room the conclusion of a sentence, spoken in a musical though rather high-pitched voice: "It is true, nevertheless. She may not care for him, but when he returns to Court our proud and haughty favourite will be prepared to bestow her hand upon him."