witnessed many ugly things but that was of the worst. I do not wish to
talk of it; it is passed a year ago. Féto heaped his grave with flowers,
and joined the hero, Larski, who was allowed to escape, so all was
well."

"And since then you have lived from hand to mouth, with those others."
And here Francis Markrute's voice took on a new shade: there was a cold
hate in it.

"I have lived with my little brother, Mirko, and Mimo. How could I
desert them? And sometimes we have found it hard at the end of the
quarter--but it was not always as bad as that, especially when Mimo sold
a picture--"

"I will not hear his name!" Francis Markrute said with some excitement.
"In the beginning, if I could have found him I would have killed him, as
you know, but now the carrion can live, since my sister is dead. He is
not worth powder and shot."

The Countess Shulski gave the faintest shrug of her shoulders, while her
eyes grew blacker with resentment. She did not speak. Francis Markrute
stood by the mantelpiece, and lit a cigar before he continued; he knew
he must choose his words as he was dealing with no helpless thing.

"You are twenty-three years old, Zara, and you were married at
sixteen," he said at last. "And up to thirteen at least I know you were
very highly educated--You understand something of life, I expect."

"Life!" she said--and now there was a concentrated essence of bitterness
in her voice. "_Mon Dieu!_ Life--and men!"