"Yes, do come and dine.--May you see her if by chance she did not go to Paris?" He looked up at Zara, who frowned. "No--she is very tired and has gone to her room for the evening.--She has been in the country to-day, seeing some friends.--No--not to-morrow--she goes to the country again, and to Paris the following night--To the station? I will ask her, but perhaps she is like me, and dislikes being seen off," then a laugh,--and then, "All right--well, come and dine at eight--good-bye." The financier put the receiver down and looked at his niece, a whimsical smile in his eyes. "Well," he said, "your fiancé is very anxious to see you, it seems. What do you say?" "Certainly not!" she flashed. "I thought it was understood; he shall not come to the train. I will go by another if he insists." "He won't insist; tell me of your day?" She calmed herself--her face had grown stormy. "I am quite satisfied with the home you have chosen for Mirko and will take him there to-morrow. All the clothes have come that you said I might order for him, and I hope and think he will be comfortable and happy. He has a very beautiful, tender nature, and a great talent. If he could only grow strong, and more balanced! Perhaps he will, in this calm, English air." Francis Markrute's face changed, as it always did with the mention and discussion of Mirko--whose presence in the world was an ever-rankling proof of his loved sister's disgrace. All his sense of justice--and he was in general a just man--could never reconcile him to the idea of ever seeing or recognizing the child. "The sins of the fathers"--was his creed and he never forgot the dying Emperor's words. He had lost sight of his niece for nearly two years after his sister's death. She had wished for no communication with him, believing then that he had left her mother to die without forgiveness, and it was not until he happened to read in a foreign paper the casual mention of Count Shulski's murder, and so guessed at Zara's whereabouts, that a correspondence had been opened again, and he was able to explain that he had been absent in Africa and had not received any letters. He then offered her his protection and a home, if she would sever all connection with the two, Mimo and Mirko, and she had indignantly refused. And it was only when they were in dire poverty, and he had again written asking his niece to come and stay with him for a few weeks, this time with no conditions attached, that she had consented, thinking that perhaps she would be able in some way to benefit them. But now that she looked at him she felt keenly how he had trapped her, all the same.