A MONTH--six weeks--two months passed after the Russian Minister’s ball. The Grand Duke had called informally on the President, accompanied of course by the Minister, but his visit to Washington was so brief that all formal courtesies were postponed until he returned from his travels in the Northwest, which would not be until spring. This was the time that Volkonsky looked forward to as deciding his fate. During the Grand Duke’s first brief visit, Pembroke did not know of Volkonsky’s diplomatic short-comings--nor until the last moment did he know that Volkonsky was Ahlberg. He was one of those intensely human men, who like fighting, especially if there is glory to be won--and he enjoyed a savage satisfaction in thinking that he would be the instrument of Ahlberg’s punishment--and the prospect of the catastrophe occurring during the Grand Duke’s visit, so there could be no misunderstanding or glozing over of the matter, filled him with what the moralists would call an unholy joy. He and Volkonsky had met often since the night of the ball, but never alone. The fact is, Volkonsky had his wife for a body guard. She was always with him in those days, sitting by his side in her carriage, or else close at his elbow. One day, however, as Volkonsky was coming out of the State Department, he met Pembroke face to face. Pembroke had chafed with inward fury at the cleverness with which Volkonsky had managed to avoid him. Therefore when he passed the Russian Minister’s carriage with Madame Volkonsky sitting in it alone at the foot of the steps, he was certain that Volkonsky was in the State Department, and that he could catch him--for it had assumed the form of a flight and a pursuit. Pembroke took off his hat and bowed profoundly to Madame Volkonsky. She could not but fancy there was a glimmer of sarcasm in his manner--a sarcasm she returned by a bow still lower. Pembroke could have leaped up the steps in his anxiety to reach the building before Volkonsky left--but he controlled himself and mounted leisurely. Once inside the door, he started at a long stride down the corridor, and in two minutes he had, figuratively speaking, collared Volkonsky. “I want to speak with you,” said Pembroke. “With pleasure,” responded Volkonsky, “but I may ask you to be brief, as Madame Volkonsky awaits me in her carriage.” “I will be brief. But I desire you to come to my club--here is my card--at six o’clock this evening.” Volkonsky straightened himself up. He determined not to yield without making a fight for it. “Are you aware of your language, Meestar Pembroke?” “Perfectly,” answered Pembroke coolly. “Come or stay--do as you like. It is your only chance of getting away from the United States quietly--and this chance is given you not for yourself but for your wife.”