"In your country," he remarked simply, "they think all Russians are Nihilists. If you are in close company with a Russian, this spy will think that you are certainly the man whom he seeks, with exactly the companion one would imagine that you would choose. There is one good thing: you speak French so uncommonly well. All the men in the hotel parlor this evening heard you. They will all find it hard to believe that you are English. If I am questioned, I shall say you are my nephew." Felix eagerly promised to adhere to this statement, if necessary; and an outline of their imaginary history and proceedings for the past few months was then agreed upon. As regards the more complex question of Miss Leigh, the Russian felt that he must have more time to reflect upon this. She was, apparently, too young to be married, yet old enough to make it unseemly that she should go about under the protection of two men, both of whom were strangers to her. It was a matter upon which he would find it difficult to decide. The serious way in which he started to grapple with it gave Felix a feeling of deep satisfaction. Vronsky seemed to assume, with artless directness, that his affairs and those of the friendless young English couple were bound up together. There was no impatience of an inconvenient complication, of an obstacle to their plans. He sincerely contemplated and carefully weighed the whole situation: and nothing could have more availed to endear him to Felix than his attitude upon this delicate question. There was no sign of the spy hanging about the wharf; and after thoroughly talking out the subject, they said good-night; and when he had seen Felix safely aboard, and the gang-plank taken up, Vronsky walked back to the hotel, his mind still wrestling with the problem. When he entered the parlor he found that three or four men were still left, hanging absorbed above his model mine, and discussing the details of its working with the interest for mechanics so strongly developed in Englishmen. Vronsky was a man brought up in an atmosphere of spying and police surveillance. His glance traveled with mildness but keen observation over the figures round the table. They were all strangers to him, and none answered very exactly to the description given by Felix of the detective. But this was nothing. To elicit information at a superior inn, the make-up must be very different from that required as a loafer in search of a job. He sat down, and quietly but easily entered into chat. The first remark made by a man with a fair mustache, upon the knowledge of French displayed by the young man who had acted as interpreter, put him on the alert. "Ah, yes," he said, smiling with innocence. "He ver' good speak tongues. He vat-you-call my neveu--you unnerstan' that vord?" Yes, the man understood. Nephew was near enough. "Smeet, de name. My seester make marriage wid Mons. Smeet. He my neveu." "Indeed? Was he brought up in England, then?"