"How terrible they sound," she said gayly, "even to me, and I have been
to Petersburg. But you speak Russian, Mr. Alexis?"

"Yes," he answered. "And you?"

She shook her head and gave a little sigh.

"I? Oh, no. I am not at all clever, I am afraid."




CHAPTER IV


DON QUIXOTE

Paul had been five months in England when he met Mrs. Sydney Bamborough.
Since his hurried departure from Tver a winter had come and gone,
leaving its mark as winters do. It left a very distinct mark on Russia.
It was a famine winter. From the snow-ridden plains that lie to the
north of Moscow, Karl Steinmetz had written piteous descriptions of an
existence which seemed hardly worth the living. But each letter had
terminated with a prayer, remarkably near to a command, that he, Paul
Howard Alexis, should remain in England. So Paul stayed in London, where
he indulged to the full a sadly mistaken hobby. This man had, as we have
seen, that which is called a crank, or a loose screw, according to the
fancy of the speaker. He had conceived the absurd idea of benefiting his
fellow-beings, and of turning into that mistaken channel the surplus
wealth that was his. This, moreover, if it please you, without so much