"Ah! Monsieur Rajevski!" she cried, rushing towards me. "You know me--Madame Svetchine--eh?" "Yes, madame," I said. "I remember you." "You will let me see him--won't you?" she cried in great distress, as she gripped my hand nervously. "He has, I hope, forgiven me; surely he----" "I gave him your letter," I said. "Yes--and what did he say?" she gasped in eagerness. "Well, the truth is that he said nothing," I replied, adding: "He was much occupied with other things." "Ah! I must see him!" cried the frantic woman. "I was wrong to speak as I did. The Father is the great power in Russia. I must throw myself upon his mercy." I promised to take her to him, and left her to inform Rasputin of the arrival of his expected visitor. With an evil glint in those terrible eyes of his, he rubbed his hands together. "Good, Feodor!" he said, striding across the room. "I will see the woman. Oh, yes, if she wishes to see me I will not deny her that pleasure," he added with biting sarcasm. Truly, he was weird and horrible in the hour of his triumph. A few moments later I ushered the pale, wan woman in black into his presence. "Holy Father!" she cried wildly, "forgive me--say that you forgive the unconsidered words of a weak and unworthy woman." "Forgive--why?" he asked, standing erect and fingering his bejewelled cross. "I do not understand why I am honoured by this visit, madame." "Ah! Of course you do not know. Pardon, I have forgotten to explain. My husband----" And she broke into tears. "My dear husband----" "Well, what of your husband?" asked Rasputin. "He is at the front. Has he been wounded--or----" "No, no--not that!" she cried. "They have made a false charge against him. Some woman named Isembourg, whom he knew in Vilna before the war, has made an allegation against him of traitorous dealings with the enemy. She has given over to the Ministry of War some documents containing the plans of the defences of Grodno, which she declares he has sold to her! But it is lies--all lies. I know it!" "Really, this is quite a romantic story, madame," said Rasputin, quite unmoved. "Why should this woman make such charges?" "How can I tell? Ah! but you do not know the worst!" she went on. "The court martial actually accepted this woman's statements--statements that were lies--all of them! My husband is devoted to me, and I love him--ah, so dearly! He is all in all to me. And----" "But the woman--Isembourg, I believe you say--she is a friend of his, eh?" interrupted the monk, his hands crossed over his breast in that pious attitude he always assumed when listening. "She says she was his friend before the war--before we married, indeed. Perhaps she was," answered the condemned man's wife. "But she is undoubtedly an _agent-provocateuse_ of police set to tempt men to their downfall." "Of that I have no knowledge," was Rasputin's cold reply.