Then as an heiress should, Theresa and her "brother" invited
Goluckoffsky, his family and friends, to a pre-nuptial luncheon. No
expense was spared, for the wires had moaned with requests sent to
Brussels for money. Young Goluckoffsky was delighted with his
fiancée. She was insistent that _all_ his friends should be there,
all the revolutionaries--although of course his dear Theresa did not
know that. How the spelling of their names puzzled her. With gay
heart young Goluckoffsky wrote out all their names on a slip of paper
so she could send their invitations properly--the names St. Petersburg
wanted to know.

Came the day of the luncheon, a gala affair in the banquet room of the
hotel. Theresa looked charming; even the grimmest of the old
revolutionists were taken with her. Old Goluckoffsky beamed upon this
sparkling febrile woman, rich too, who was to marry his son.

Ices had been served when Theresa, her pretty face in smiles, declared
that she had a surprise for her guests. To her it was the day of
days. What better than a group photograph of her dear and new
friends? How she would treasure it! Strangely enough this did not
please the guests. Photographs were dangerous. Suppose, in some way,
the _Okrana_ got hold of them. They breathed easier, though, when
Theresa, calling in the photographer--the best in Lausanne, she
assured them--instructed him to deliver all copies to
Mr. Goluckoffsky, her dear father-in-law to be. So the revolutionists
grouped themselves on the hotel lawn; the photographer pressed the
bulb; and everybody laughed.

As quickly as the photographer could print his proofs they were