This happened in the years 1878-1880, I don't remember which, when I was in the midst of a tremendous political agitation. With my answer I generally returned letters which might be taken as political documents, still my drafts could serve as a clue to many important discussions, and then I remembered that I did not return Bishop Strossmeyer's letter to Mr. Gladstone, as I wanted to discuss it verbally at our first meeting. Yes, I was terribly served for my imprudence. However, trying to look perfectly calm, I said: "Very well, sell my correspondence, sell your copies to whom you like, but I cannot give you the money you require, and I forbid you ever to come to me again. Sell me to whomsoever you like, be it a statesman or a publisher." A few years later a friend of mine was interested to find out what had become of her and her boarding-house, but there she heard that my Gretchen had left England and many debts behind her. We then understood that I simply had been in the hands of a spy. But have I not been cruelly punished for being young and stupid? Alas! stupidity is very often a great luxury for which one pays dearly. I was still in deep mourning, and somehow personal questions affected me very little. I hope that this strange experience will be understood by some of my indulgent readers, and may at the same time serve as a warning especially to thoughtless, confiding Russians. {186} I remember dear Kinglake once annoying me by referring to John Bright as "only" a Quaker. I had for Bright a great admiration, and before I had finished I think poor dear "Eothen" became convinced of the fact. My first meeting with Bright was in the late eighties. I was as carried away as were my two brothers, Nicolas and Alexander Kiréeff, by the movement of the Old Catholics and the idea of Universal Peace (even before The Hague Conference). Great was my joy when one day the visit was announced to me of the famous John Bright, whose name was not only known, but also revered in Russia. We naturally began talking on the mission of "The Friends" to Russia, their reception by the Emperor Nicolas, and the Crimean War. "After all," said I frankly, "in spite of all her sacrifices in the year '54, England has gained but little; just a monument in Pall Mall inscribed 'Crimea' to remind the world of a costly struggle." Our interview lasted about two hours. He talked away and I remained a patient listener. I confess I fancied that as I said nothing, the conversation would be quite to his liking! And I suppose it was, for meeting a friend of mine shortly afterwards, he remarked: "I saw O.K. the other day. I was very much struck by her. She is the very picture of health and strength. She will never grow old." Nothing more! Was it not dreadful? Are you smiling?