Meanwhile, Lykof remained in the shadow by the door, taking no part in the discussion, although he would naturally have been the most keenly interested. After a little hesitation, Von Gaden summoned a servant, and the two took Polotsky to a small room at the left of the door, and securing the window, bolted him in and left him to his own reflections. Then the doctor invited us to enter his study, where the tapers were burning, and he had appliances at hand to bandage Lykof’s throat. Entering the room in advance, I was startled by an exclamation from Von Gaden, and looking around, saw his eyes fastened with astonishment on the face of Peter Lykof, who was standing before the light, and having dropped his cloak, was revealed in his close-fitting garments, a large muscular man, whose white hair contrasted strongly with his bronzed complexion. Lykof was regarding the Jew with almost a smile on his stern face, and I saw that the side which had escaped the distortion of the scar was handsome. Von Gaden shaded his eyes with his hand, gazing at his visitor in silence until Lykof spoke. “You recognize me, I see, doctor,” he said; “but it is not necessary that others should know me also.” “I understand,” exclaimed Von Gaden, grasping his outstretched hand warmly. “I should have known you among a thousand, although it is a long time, and the years have made some changes.” “Sorry ones, I fear,” replied the stranger, smiling. “But you should recognize your own handiwork.” The doctor seemed suddenly to recollect his business, and bustled about. “Sit down,” he said, “and I will dress that neck of yours, and then we can have supper.” “It is but a scratch,” said Lykof, carelessly, as he unfastened his collar, revealing a gash near the collar-bone which had bled quite freely. “A bungling stroke,” remarked Von Gaden, critically; “the villain is a poor swordsman.” “Yes, fortunately,” laughed Lykof, “else I should not be alive to thank M. de Brousson for his timely interference.” “The fellow must have been dogging your footsteps for some time,” I said, “for we had followed for quite a distance to see the outcome of the affair.” “It may be that he has followed me all day,” Lykof replied. “I have been so absorbed in my own business that I had no thought of such a thing; and Michael was not with me. If he had been--” he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “There would have been short work,” I said; “at least, I should judge so from what I have observed.” “He told me of his mistaken attack upon you, M. le Vicomte,” Lykof said with a keen glance, which made my face burn, “and I must apologize for him. The fellow has been infuriated by this villain Polotsky, and longs for his blood. I have no doubt that he will murder him in the end, and it will be no loss to the community.” “No; that kind of vermin is best removed,” Von Gaden rejoined, as he adjusted the plaster on Lykof’s wound, and I watched with interest the man’s wonderful dexterity.