For many minutes the young Russian did not move; then, when positive
certainty of his solitude had grown into his mind, he lifted himself on
one elbow and looked cautiously about him.

A change had passed over his face in the last hour--an interesting
change. The smooth cheek that the night air had cooled to paleness was
now flushed, and there was a spark of anger in the bright eyes.
Unquestionably this boy had a temper and a spirit of his own, and both
had been aroused. There was a certain arrogance, a certain contempt in
his glance now as it swept the inoffensive coats and rugs of the
departed travellers, a certain antagonism as he sat up, tossed back the
lock of hair that had again fallen across his forehead, and turned his
eyes to the heap of papers lying upon the carriage floor.

For long he gazed upon these papers, as though they exercised a magnetic
influence, and at last, with a swift impulse, extremely characteristic,
he stretched out his arm and drew forth the lowest of the heap.

He regained his former position with a quick, lithe movement of the
body, and in an instant he was poring over the paper, the pages turning
with incredible speed under the eagerness of his touch. At last he
reached the page he sought, the page that had offered ground for
discussion to the three voyagers an hour earlier.

His eyes flashed, his fingers tightened, his dark head was bent lower
over the paper. Two pictures confronted him. The first was of a woman in
Russian court dress, who wore her jewels and her splendor of apparel
with an air of pride and careless supremacy that had in it something
magnificent, something semi-barbaric. The boy looked at this curious and