Vassilitch was clearly relieved by the answer. He said, "This will, of course, necessitate a journey to Russia. Well, I will find this man." "And you will challenge him?" "I will challenge him." "And you will kill him?" "If by that time you still wish it--yes, I will kill him." They looked into one another's eyes, adding no further word. A heavy clap of thunder broke and rolled overhead. "You had better go in now," said Vassilitch. He left her at the doors of the French windows, while he lighted a cigar and went again into the garden. Suddenly he turned. He perceived that she was yet standing, gazing after him. He could see her in the aureole of light, though she could not see him in the outer gloom. "How beautiful she is!" muttered Vassilitch. He flung down his cigar, put his foot upon it, and ground it into the earth. II. "Expensive? Rather. You cannot get diggings in Regent Street for a song." Tweed rose, threw up the window, sat down again, and added, "Especially over a jeweller's shop. They are so careful. There is nothing but a plank, my dear Boris, between us and thousands of pounds' worth of glittering things." "It is very nice here," said Boris Stefanovitch, looking across to the Quadrant with wistful, melancholy eyes. "'Twill serve. They are not bad for bachelors' quarters. My only fear is that one day I may get my head into the matrimonial noose. Do not laugh; it is too serious. There are many who feel in the same way. We are determined not to marry. We build a hedge, and dig a trench, and raise a tower; but--but----" Tweed shrugged his shoulders. "Halloa, it is beginning to snow," he added, abruptly. "Do you feel cold? I will close the window." "Pray do not. I had an idea that it never snowed in England. This wind is most refreshing." "I am glad you think so," said Tweed, pushing back his chair as a rush of raw air swept into the apartment. "No doubt a cutting blast like this is a summer breeze to you after your----" He pulled himself up suddenly. That was a subject that he never cared to be the first to open. There was the rattle of descending iron shutters. They were closing the shop on the ground floor. The white flakes were driving by in dizzying confusion. Almost every cab had an occupant. A hushed roar told of the traffic at Piccadilly Circus. Stefanovitch said, quietly, "Well, I shall return to Russia." "You will do nothing of the sort," was the equally quiet reply. "There is a difference in our cases. You wish to live without love; and I--to me love is life. This silence is not to be endured. Why no response to my letters? I shall wait one more month, and then I shall go to Moscow." "You dare not! Haven't you seen enough of Russian prisons?" "More than three years since I set eyes on her," muttered the other; and his face, which bore the marks of much suffering, became all at once haggard with perplexity. "Three years is a long time and a hard test," argued Tweed.