“Oh, no! I’m only discussing the legal rights of the matter, and Tom Wilkins’s part in it. If Bill Wilkins owned the gold--as he did--he had a right to take any partners in he liked. Oh, yes, the Wilkinses were within their legal rights all the time, though that isn’t exactly a recommendation for going in with them on a gold mine. There are too many legal robberies connected with that class of property to suit me.” “I’m afraid there is too much law in this country,” chimed in Marie. “Just as there is too little in Russia. But what have you heard of the progress of the suit of the Princess Napraxine against Count Strogoff, Mr. Bristow?” Bristow glanced quickly at his wife. “The Princess really seems about to win,” he declared, “though the case is still in the courts. Our man there writes me that he understands the Czar is convinced that the claim is valid, and has received the ‘Princess’ officially at his court. That means that everything’s over except the shouting. I don’t know; sometimes I wonder if I did right in letting Olga give up everything!” But Olga smiled. “Not for me,” she declared, as she had declared in Baron Demidroff’s presence six months before. “Not for me. I told Baron Demidroff the truth. My tastes are simple, and I am quite content without the millions and the rank.” “And in any event you are right.” It was Marie who spoke. “I have tested that mode of life, and I know. There is nothing in its glitter and pomp to balance home--home such as I never had and never could have had in Russia’s splendid barbarism. No, no, Mr. Bristow! If Olga had hesitated, it would have been your duty to tear her away from it by force. The world has nothing to offer that is better than America and American husbands.” “Yes, you are quite right!” The Professor smiled benignantly on his two daughters. “You are quite right, both of you! Money and rank! What are they? Nothing! Nothing to freedom and the chance for a man to be a man! Besides,” he added shrewdly, “I suspect those estates will not be so very large after all. If Strogoff has not plundered them, he is not the man he is reputed to be.” The bell at the door of the apartment rang, and a moment later a servant brought an evening paper to Caruth. “The janitor brought this up, sir,” he explained. “He says as how there’s something in it he thinks you’ll like to see, sir.” Caruth took the paper and glanced down its columns. Then he uttered an exclamation. “Good Lord!” he cried. “Listen to this dispatch from St. Petersburg: