"No," I answered calmly. "I am aware that mademoiselle is an active member of the Narodnaya Volya, but, I, too, am a friend of the Cause;" and I added a word which signifies indivisibility, and is the recognised password of the Circle of desperate Russian revolutionists to which she belonged. It gave her confidence, and she sank back upon the cushions, questioning me how I had recognised her. "I heard you were masquerading in London," I said; "and among other members of the Circle who are here at the present moment are young Paul Tchartkoff, Sergius Karamasoff, and Ivan Petrovitch." "But--but who are you, m'sieur, that you should know so much about the Narodnaya Volya? When we were introduced, I failed to catch your name distinctly." "My name is Andrew Verney, and I am an English journalist." "Andrew Verney! Ah! of course I have heard of you many times! You were the English newspaper correspondent who, while living at Warsaw, became one of Us, and wrote articles to your journal advocating the emancipation of our country and the inviolability of the individual and of his rights as a man. You assisted us in bringing our case vividly before the English people, and in raising money to carry on the propaganda. But, alas! the iron hand of the Minister of the Interior fell upon you." "Yes," I said, laughing; "I was expelled with a cancelled passport, and an intimation from the Press Bureau at Petersburg that whatever I wrote in future would not be allowed to enter Russia." Our boat was drifting, so I bent again to the oars, and rowed back to the lawn of our hostess.