“Your uncle, Zénaïde!” she said hastily. The young girl’s eyes flashed with sudden fire. “These are my own apartments,” she replied, with a touch of hauteur, “and my uncle will scarcely intrude here again to-night.” I knew, however, that they were in a dilemma, and that my presence there was contrary to usage and propriety. I was the more willing to depart, since I felt that Mademoiselle Eudoxie was not only a protection to Zénaïde, but a medium of communication. I had not found courage to explain my errand. “I will not intrude longer upon your hospitality, mademoiselle,” I said to Zénaïde; “but perhaps another time I may speak with Mademoiselle Eudoxie and with--you.” A mischievous smile gleamed suddenly in Zénaïde’s blue eyes. “Mademoiselle Varien, light this gentleman down the stairs,” she said quietly. “And you, M. de Brousson, have my thanks for--for your kind solicitude,” she added, blushing deeply and holding out her hand. I bowed low over it, and in some blundering way bade her adieu, and went with Mademoiselle Eudoxie along the corridor, bearing the light for her, and feeling both exultant and foolish at the termination of my enterprise. At the end of the passage we stumbled upon a servant, who stared not a little at the sight of a stranger lighting the governess down the stairs. When we reached the lower floor, and were alone, mademoiselle plucked at my cloak. “Monsieur Philippe,” she said, her short-sighted eyes trying to search my face, “how did you happen to come here to-night?” It was a relief that I could at least explain matters fully to her, and she would probably repeat it to Zénaïde. I told her of my adventure in the courtyard, and of the shadows on the wall. She was still a little puzzled, for of course I did not speak of Von Gaden’s confidence. “Did the boyar really strike Zénaïde?” I asked. “I fear so,” mademoiselle replied, a troubled expression on her face; “they had a stormy interview, at which I was not present, and I saw the red mark on dear Zénaïde’s cheek.” “He is cruel to her, then?” I said sternly. Mademoiselle stammered a little. “I cannot say cruel,” she said. “I have been here ten years with Zénaïde, and he has always allowed her to have everything she wished, but without seeming fond of her. He is a strange man. I can almost say that he avoided the sight of the child; but now all these things are changed. He is anxious for her to marry, and of course has his own ends to serve, and cares not at all for Zénaïde’s happiness. I tried to mold her mind to gentle submission, foreseeing this end; but Zénaïde has, they tell me, her father’s will, and she will not be guided; and now the house is in a constant tumult because of this match that she will not hear of.” “I honor her the more,” I said at once; “no woman should wed Viatscheslav.”