Then Corsini recognised him. "Ivan the Cuckoo, Ivan the outlaw! What are you doing here?" "Get your friends a little out of earshot and then we can talk quietly," was the outlaw's answer. Corsini went up to the leader of the four men, who had drawn very close. "This is a man whom I met on my first entrance into this country under very strange circumstances. I have good reason to believe he is well disposed towards me; but he wishes to speak to me in private. Will you withdraw a little so that you cannot hear what he says?" The chief of the party looked somewhat doubtfully on the big figure of the outlaw. "He seems a bit of a ruffian, Signor, but it is as you wish. We will go out of earshot, as you request, but we will keep our pistols well levelled at him, in case of accident. You are sure you can trust him?" "I think so," replied Corsini. "I am afraid he is not a very estimable character and his appearance is not in his favour, but I helped him once when he was in great straits, and he swore to return the obligation. I am inclined to trust him myself." The four men withdrew. The big man chuckled quietly. "So you have persuaded them to get out of the way. They were urging you not to trust me, eh?" "Something of the sort. Well, Ivan, what have you got to say?" "Simply this. On that day you saved me, when the police were waiting within a few yards to trap me like a rabbit, I swore I would pay back the debt, did I not?" "You did, Ivan. I remember that promise well. But you don't mean to say you are going to pay it back to-night." "If not to-night, very shortly, Signor Corsini. You see, I know something about you. Well, I will tell you something you may, or may not, know; you have a very bitter enemy, who is resolved to hunt you to death." "That is true, Ivan. I can guess his name, but you know it. Is that not so?" "It is quite true," replied the outlaw in low tones. "Your enemy is mine, too, the dastard and scoundrel who enjoys the style and title of Prince Zouroff." "Your enemy also?" queried Corsini in wondering tones. "But how can you have crossed his path?" "I have a heavy account against the man and his family," answered the outlaw in his low, fierce voice. "In the old bad days of serfdom, his father, who was even a bigger ruffian, if it is possible, than his son, had my father flogged to death for a trivial offence. That was burnt into my brain." He tore open his clothes and showed his naked chest, on which was a long scar. "You see that. Boris insulted my sister, a pure and innocent girl, born on his estate as I was. She told me the story. I borrowed a sword. I lay in wait for him in the woods one night. I challenged him to fight. I wounded him, thank Heaven, but he got his sword in too and left me with that scar. You can guess that I have got a big account against this Prince who swaggers about St. Petersburg and boasts amongst his intimates that he will dethrone the Czar."