I.
My acquaintance with the brothers Kourásoff commenced as far back as when I was sub-professor at the Polytechnic Institute in St. Petersburg and Loris, the elder, was in the Guards, while Vladimir, the younger, was still at the School of Gunnery. These two brothers were commonly mistaken for twins, although Loris was no less than four years older than Vladimir; but, though Nature had made them outwardly alike, she had not failed to mark an extraordinary difference in their characters. Fortune, too, having endowed them equally in the first instance, had unequivocally declared one to be her favored child.
Vladimir Kourásoff was by turns morose and flippant. He had managed to encumber himself with debts even sooner than young Russian nobles usually do, and was, moreover, suspected of inclining to revolutionary principles. The Government took good care to be informed of everything Vladimir Kourásoff said and did.
Loris, on the contrary, enjoyed a high degree of
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 imperial favor. He had been sent, at his own request, to take command in one of the disturbed districts near the Turkestan frontier—a position which he filled to the satisfaction of the Government and of the local authorities too, a thing difficult to do. About this time he invented a new fuse, which was approved by the Ministry of War, and for which he declined to accept any compensation, which induced the emperor to decorate him. He belonged to the true party of order and progress, which seeks to improve the Russ as he is without vainly attempting to turn him into a German or a Frenchman. His estates near Wilna were said to prove by their flourishing condition that emancipation could be turned to the mutual benefit of proprietor and serf. Of his private character my great affection for him makes me speak with diffidence. I can only say that he had a multitude of friends who shared my opinion of him. His talents and accomplishments were adorned with a singular modesty, which, if it did not disarm jealousy, at least silenced it.
The Russ is essentially democratic; therefore it is not remarkable that Count Loris Kourásoff, one of the darlings of St. Petersburg society, should have for his friend a sub-professor who lived in modest lodgings in an unfashionable quarter beyond the Izaak bridge. Once a year we usually took a journey together; and one summer he accompanied me to Germany on a mission of a sentimental nature, which, if not settled to my satisfaction, was at least settled, and I set myself to
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 forgetting Maria von Spreckeldsen as quickly as I could. This proved to be easier than I had imagined; and, though I wept tears of rage, and Maria tears of disappointment, when her father refused to let us marry on my salary as sub-professor, the anguish of both subsided by degrees, leaving only a feeling of placid regret. Maria, who could not talk philosophy so well as I, acted it much better, and in less than a year married Herr Sachs, one of the richest brewers in Bavaria; and when I last saw her I thought I would not exchange the image which dwelt in my heart of my adored Maria in her youthful slenderness for the excellent but stout Madame Sachs, while I am sure she would not have given her brewer for all the professors in Russia and Germany together. But we still correspond (with the full approbation of Herr Sachs), and in our letters call each other Gottlieb and Maria. O youth! O folly! O Maria!
Count Loris frequently complained that my affair with Maria had destroyed his fondest illusions, and that my inconstancy, as he was pleased to call my devotion to my ideal Maria, had made him a skeptic in love. He seemed to take a cruel pleasure in listening to my most harrowing reminiscences, and when we dined together always toasted Maria with a variety of unfeeling remarks.
I had never visited the Wilna estates of Count Kourásoff, but in the summer of 18—, being engaged in making studies of Russian village life, I presented myself at Ivánofka. Count Loris was at home when I arrived, and was overjoyed to see
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 me. The house was very much like French chateaux of the best class, and maintained in a state of order and repair not always found in Russia. Everything showed a generous but wise expenditure. The village gave evidences of thrift and industry. The communal land, as well as that belonging to Count Kourásoff, was under an excellent system of husbandry. Instead of the complicated agricultural machinery for which the Russian proprietors have a mania, while their plows are made after the model of those used in the time of Iwan the Terrible, I found at Ivánofka that they had judiciously improved on their common tools and implements. The barley was of a superior order, and the cattle were fat and well-shaped. All the credit for this state of things was awarded to Count Kourásoff. It was he who had given Iwan Tiska a horse when his own died of lockjaw; it was he who had paid Mother Karlitch for her flax when it was all burned up; it was he who had given them seed in the year of the bad harvest. In short, the inhabitants of Ivánofka regarded Count Kourásoff as the general benefactor of the human race.
The only dissatisfied man in the village appeared to be the parish priest. The contempt in which the "White" or married clergy are generally held is well known, and in this instance the dislike of the parishioners was warmly reciprocated; but, in spite of the head-shakings and evident disgust of my village friends, I had formed a sort of intimacy with the old fellow, and sometimes amused
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 myself by listening to his hearty denunciations of the souls committed to his charge. Once he said, shrugging his shoulders: "Count Loris is a man of sense, but he treats them like rational human beings, when, to show you how little they deserve it, about once a year the howling sickness breaks out among them. It begins with some woman whose husband has given her an extra beating—not a blow too much, I dare say" (the priest was accused of using this method of persuasion on his own wife occasionally)—"and in two days the whole village is howling."
"Well," I asked, "what happens then?"
"I will tell you. The first time it broke out, some disguised men—of course I knew nothing of it, you understand," said he, opening his eyes and shutting them again with a cunning look—"took seven of these howling devils in the middle of the night, and, cutting a hole in the ice of the lake, dipped them in two or three times. One of them—old Mother Petroff—died the next day, but that was no great loss—the village has been twice as peaceable ever since."
"The remedy was severe, but does not appear to have been effectual," said I.
"Oh, yes, yes! Now, when they begin to be troublesome—that is, more troublesome than women usually are—some fine morning they see a big square hole cut in the ice, and they leave off as suddenly as they began. Women are plagues at best," he continued after a pause of deep reflection.
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"Well, little father," said I, still laughing, "if one wishes a picture of the dark side of Russian humanity, I know of no one so well fitted to give it as you."
"I am indeed well acquainted with it in my own parishioners. St. Nicholas help me to abuse them!" said he, piously crossing himself.
But there was for me something more interesting than the village priest or the commune: Count Kourásoff was seriously contemplating marriage. He scarcely allowed me time to make my modest toilet and eat my simple dinner on the day of my arrival before I was carried off to see his fiancée. He told me she was Mademoiselle Olga Orviéff, that she lived at Antokollo,—one of the two fine suburbs of Wilna,—and that she enjoyed a virtual independence, having as her only companion an old aunt quite deaf, nearly blind, and totally incapable.
"I suppose," said I on the way to Antokollo, "that Mademoiselle Orviéff is one of those gentle creatures with whom life flows—"
"As placidly as a canal," said my friend.
"I am gratified to hear it," I replied. "In marriage one needs repose."
"Exactly," said Count Loris.
"I imagine, therefore," said I after a pause, "she is not one of those superficially gifted women who appear to have minds. Perhaps my description of my beloved Maria may have inclined your fancy to the same type; and, while she embodies my ideas of female excellence, I am sure she never read a book through in her life."
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"Mademoiselle Olga reads, I fear; but I can easily break her of that after we are married," said Count Kourásoff gravely.
"Is she handsome?" I inquired.
"She is not ugly," was his guarded answer.
"The shallowness of women makes them easily read," said I; "although I speak with diffidence. My knowledge of them is limited: yours, doubtless, is extensive."
"Far from it," said he with energy; "the more I see of them the less I know of them."
"Then what a frightful risk!" I cried. "My friend, I would not be in your place for the wealth of the empire."
"But Mademoiselle Olga has such soft eyes and such dark eyelashes!" said he. "That comforts me when the recollection of the vagaries of her sex casts me down. After all, if we marry at all, we must marry a woman—the philosophers give us no escape from that."
"Too true, my friend; but the philosophers bid us avoid marriage altogether."
"They did not on that account refrain themselves. However, I escaped until my time came; which is all that any of us can expect. Destiny can overtake all of us—even you, my gay and youthful professor. But I do assure you that Mademoiselle Olga has most beautiful eyes."
When at last I was presented to Mademoiselle Orviéff, I found that she possessed the essence of beauty—which is the power to please. Her appearance was exquisitely feminine, but there was a
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 fire in her eyes and a curve in her red mouth that showed a spirit beyond her outward softness and delicacy. At first I thought her the simplest creature I had ever met with; but I afterward found her to be the most complex. This knowledge was not arrived at in a day, a week, or a month, but in a long period of familiar intercourse. She was a beautiful revelation to me; for the first time I comprehended the charm of a fine intelligence in a woman. She possessed without knowing it, a cultivated understanding, but she always appeared to me, in her serious moments, like a child playing at being wise. She did me the honor to exert all her powers of pleasing upon me, while Count Kourásoff looked on amused at her adroit cajolery of me and her determined effort to win my good opinion. She very soon established a remorseless tyranny over me under cover of the gentlest and most insinuating manner. I was her "dearest professor," her "best of friends," and meantime she held me in the hollow of her little hand. Her devotion to Count Kourásoff was of the nature of a religion. To me, and to all the world but him, she used all the flattering wiles and pretty artifices that render women charming, but she seemed to feel by a fine instinct that she needed but one art with him—to be her own true and natural self.
But the destiny to be loved too much and by too many seemed to be Olga's fate. Among those whom her evident preference for Count Kourásoff had not discouraged was General Klapka, commandant of the garrison at Wilna, and at the same
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 time one of the richest men in Russia. He was a man at all times unscrupulous and dangerous to thwart, and a singular complication placed the power of inflicting a terrible revenge in his hands. Vladimir Kourásoff was stationed with his regiment at Wilna under a sort of surveillance, and General Klapka could add still further to his painful and perilous position. He had more than once intimated to Count Loris that he held Vladimir's life in his hands; and this could be readily believed, for nothing seemed to impress Vladimir with a sense of his danger. He openly and bitterly complained of his banishment from St. Petersburg, and his conduct showed equal levity and recklessness.
I was astonished at the tact and boldness with which Mademoiselle Olga managed so troublesome and dangerous a lover as General Klapka. But Count Loris did not seem disposed to aid her. Whatever anxiety he might feel for Vladimir, he did not on that account do much toward conciliating General Klapka on the occasions—and they were not infrequent—when they met at Antokollo. I made no doubt that each respected the personal courage of the other, but nothing but my friend's coolness under all circumstances and unshaken self-possession foiled General Klapka's evident efforts to disoblige him.
One day Count Loris proposed that we should drive over to Antokollo. It was a lovely afternoon in August, and we went in an open calèche, which we left at the entrance of the grounds. As
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 we walked slowly under the rich and dappled shadows of the beech-trees, we saw a group before us—General Klapka and two aides in brilliant uniform, and Mademoiselle Olga sitting in a rustic chair lazily fanning herself and holding a gay pink parasol over her pretty bare head. No better foil for her youth and loveliness could be imagined than General Klapka. He was awkward and stout, with purplish moustaches and a suspiciously black and luxuriant head of hair. Mademoiselle Olga always described him as looking like a wild beast; and he certainly had a sort of savage glare in his fierce eyes. He did not appear overjoyed to see us as we made our greetings, but Olga, who had appeared somewhat bored before noticing our approach, became all animation.
The two aides, after politely saluting Count Kourásoff and superciliously surveying my plain coat, entered into a deeply interesting conversation with each other. Thereupon Mademoiselle Olga honored me with her particular notice, and, proposing a walk around the grounds, coolly took my arm, leaving Count Loris and General Klapka to pair off together. The latter, though not deficient in breeding, did not respond very cordially to Count Kourásoff's well-bred efforts at a good understanding, and perhaps felt the contrast between his companion's graceful figure and his own ungainly appearance. But whether they got on well or ill appeared to matter very little to Olga: she left them to amuse themselves, and chattered on to me in her pretty and entertaining manner.
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The grounds were small but beautifully laid out. We presently came to a bridge over a little stream, and stopped to watch the water tumbling over the rocks at the bottom. Olga, leaning carelessly over the rail, dropped sticks and pebbles into the water, and ended by dropping her fan—a pretty thing of lace and ivory—after them. Of course we each offered to save it, but, with a coquettish imperiousness, she ordered General Klapka to the rescue. The General, highly gratified, tucked his military chapeau under his arm, made his slippery way down the bank, and, stepping cautiously upon the stones, reached out for the fan. In vain; it was just a little beyond him.
"A little farther, General Klapka—only one step more," cried Olga encouragingly.
"But mademoiselle, the rocks are wet, and—"
"Ah, Mademoiselle Olga, do not tempt General Klapka too far.—Beware of another step, General Klapka!" cried Count Loris, maliciously.
Of course General Klapka took the other step, but it was of no use; a mischievous eddy carried the fan still farther down.
"If you will accept of my services—" began Count Loris, turning to Olga.
General Klapka raising himself to scowl at his impertinent rival, just what all of us had foreseen happened; there was a plunge, a loud splash, and he was floundering in the water. It was very shallow, and he was on his feet in a moment, but Count Loris, with officious politeness, rushed to his rescue, literally dragging him out, completely drowning
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 the general's angry assurances that he did not need any assistance by protestations of regret and earnest inquiries whether he had received any hurts. Meanwhile, Olga, standing on the bank, anxiously fished for the general's hat, which she triumphantly landed on the point of her pink parasol.
As soon as he was well out of the water, General Klapka sent one of his young officers, who looked as crestfallen as himself, to order their horses; but, in the little time that elapsed before his departure, Mademoiselle Orviéff seemed determined, by her endless regrets and apologies, not to let him forget his mishap, while, by a singular process of feminine logic, she taxed Count Kourásoff with being the sole cause of the accident. He, after all, had saved the fan, and bore her reproaches with great coolness. When at last General Klapka, sulky and discomfited, rode off Mademoiselle Olga and the count laughed at him as if they would never tire, and seemed to think his misfortune a source of boundless amusement; but I began to see that there were some tragic elements in this comedy they were playing.
II.
About this time the Grand Duke Constantine was expected at Wilna, and great preparations were made to receive him; but the revolutionary placards which had appeared there, as in every other town in the empire, became more numerous and audacious than ever. The police, as the case has
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 always been, showed their boasted efficiency by arresting numbers of innocent persons, whom they were subsequently obliged to release; but after every arrest the placards became more violent and taunting. Several officers of the garrison, even, were arrested, but, to my surprise, Vladimir Kourásoff was not among them. He had suddenly grown prudent; but I can not say that this change in his conduct inspired either his brother or myself with any great confidence. Of one thing we were both assured, that Vladimir's rash and frivolous character would prevent his being placed in any post of responsibility by the revolutionary or any other party. Count Loris was deeply attached to him, and Vladimir knew very well that his brother's means and influence would be freely used to save him from the consequences of his own wrong-doing.
On the morning of the Grand Duke's expected arrival the city was alive with threatening cards posted on the walls of the university, the arsenal, and other public buildings. Count Loris and myself paid a visit that morning to Mademoiselle Orviéff, and then joined a throng of eager and expectant spectators at the palace gates. Vladimir too, was there, one of a brilliant group of officers who were to receive the Grand Duke at the entrance to the palace. The crowd was excited, but good-natured, and contained the usual mixture seen in Russia on such occasions—priests, moujiks, ladies, beggars, and police—all loudly talking about indifferent things, and below their breath discussing the boldness of the placards.
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"One was torn down in St. Stanislas Street at eight o'clock, and before nine there were dozens like it posted all over the town—on the Cathedral doors, over the Nikolas bridge, everywhere," said an officer with whom I was conversing. As he spoke, I turned and saw Vladimir Kourásoff listening to him with a conscious smile on his countenance.
At that moment a droschky appeared at the extremity of the long street which the police kept clear for the imperial cortége. The horse dashed furiously along, evidently running away, while the driver held on desperately to the reins. On the narrow seat were two moujiks holding on to each other, apparently drunk and unconscious of their danger. They kissed each other and rubbed their beards together, as their habit is in their convivial moods; but I suspected that they were not drunk, and perhaps not even moujiks. One of them appeared to be urging the already maddened horse still more. "Fly, my dushinka!" ("little darling") he cried, trying to clutch the reins from the frightened driver. "Fly like wind and lightning to meet our good father Constantine!"
His companion waved a box in his hand. "Fireworks! torpedoes!" he bawled with a yell of drunken laughter, "for the good Duke Constantine!"
The horse, suddenly swerving from his straight course, dashed against one of the iron pillars holding a cluster of lamps at the palace-gate. There was a loud cry as the crash of the droschky and
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 the explosion of the box of fireworks occurred at the same moment, and, while every eye except mine was apparently fixed on the spot, I saw Vladimir Kourásoff lift up his hand and affix a placard to the wall and vanish in the crowd. It was done in an instant of time.
As I saw it I walked off involuntarily in another direction, and when I turned and looked back the throng that had lately been so noisy and excited was staring in stupid amazement at the bit of paper securely fastened to the wall.
My first impulse was to seek Count Loris: I felt that Vladimir's fate was sealed—that in that vast multitude some one besides myself must have seen him. I walked mechanically to the Nikolas bridge, and, looking up, saw my friend approaching, and two men, not in uniform, walking slowly and nonchalantly toward him, immediately in front of me. We all four met in the middle of the bridge.
One of the strangers laid his hand lightly on the count's arm. "In the name of the emperor," said he, "your sword."
Count Loris, with a cool smile, unbuckled his sword and handed it to him. "I am now, and always, the faithful subject of the emperor's most sacred Majesty," said he.
The man, who had hitherto remained silent, examining him carefully, said: "He does not wear the uniform of Count Vladimir Kourásoff's corps."
"That is easily accounted for," replied his companion: "he has a brother who is in the Guards,
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 and a change of uniform is a shallow trick often resorted to."
"Come, my friends," said Count Loris, smiling pleasantly, "do not keep a gentleman and a faithful officer standing here in this piercing wind."
"Come on, then," said one of his captors. "You have plenty of courage: it is well, for you will need it all."
"Farewell, my friend!" said Count Loris, turning to me, and, still smiling, walked off with the police officers.
III.
I went to Antokollo, to the house where we had spent so many happy hours, feeling a kind of horror at being the bearer of such tidings. The arrest of Count Kourásoff, in itself a dangerous thing, became still more so when I reflected that he would be absolutely in the power of General Klapka, who, as military governor, had charge of all the state prisoners. As for Vladimir, I made no doubt that he would improve this chance to save his precious self. It would be some hours, and possibly some days, before it would be found out that they had not captured the real culprit.
Mademoiselle Olga came in, looking gayer and more brilliant than usual. When I told her of her lover's misfortune, this tender young creature exhibited the utmost courage. But when I expressed my indignation at Vladimir's conduct, she turned on me like a young lioness: he was Count Kourásoff's brother, and how dare I so speak of him be
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fore her? I hastily apologized and added one more to my list of the incomprehensibilities in woman's nature. I offered, at any cost, to carry the assurances of her faithfulness to Count Loris.
"He knows it better than you could tell him," she said, looking scornfully at me. But with her woman's wit she devised a plan by which I could communicate with my friend.
The next morning I presented myself at General Klapka's levée, and, having obtained a few minutes alone with him, I gave him to understand that I knew the state prisoner Kourásoff was Loris and not Vladimir, and, explaining that I had an account which I wished to settle with the former, I obtained permission to present it. General Klapka was ready enough to believe me one of those summer friends who change as seasons change, and the fact that a state prisoner could not alienate any of his property did not make it the less annoying to have claims presented to him.
General Klapka took me to a window, and, pointing significantly to the fortress where the prisoners were confined, said: "I have a question to ask of you. Now, if you attempt to deceive me, in less than twenty-four hours you will have an apartment there."
I bowed silently.
"You are probably aware," he continued, "that I am deeply interested in Mademoiselle Orviéff. Have you seen her since Kourásoff's arrest?"
"Yes," I replied; "I saw her immediately afterward."
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"Did she express any fear for him or show any excitement?"
"Not in the least," said I.
"Did she endeavor to send any message to Kourásoff by you? Examine your recollection carefully, or—"
"No," said I. "I told her I should try to see him: I candidly acknowledge that I asked her if she had a message to send, and she declined positively."
He stood gazing thoughtfully on the ground for a little while. "You may go," he said at length. "Count Kourásoff has not at present any money at his disposal"—he smiled as he spoke—"but you may get his promise to pay your principal with interest—with good interest. And remember, my friend, if you suspect that the prisoner is not Count Vladimir Kourásoff, you will be careful not to speak of it: you will find it best to observe my—requests."
The next day, and many days after, I presented myself at the outer fort where Count Kourásoff was imprisoned, and, after having been duly searched and found to carry nothing with me but a huge account-book showing Count Kourásoff to be thousands of roubles in debt to me, I was admitted to his narrow apartment, where we would sit at a little table and figure and dispute by the hour. During these apparently stormy interviews, when a great deal of information was conveyed to him about Olga as well as public affairs, the sentry who walked up and down before his open door
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 cast many angry looks at me, and always ushered me out with more haste than civility; for Count Loris had managed to engage the affections of the soldiers who guarded him as well as everybody else's. My parting assurance to him always was that the mines of Siberia would claim him yet; to which he would respond by saying that no misfortunes of his would benefit me or make him pay my dishonest account.
He had another visitor besides myself. Day after day a priest, whom I knew to be my friend at Ivánofka, but who was apparently fifty years older than in the August before, appeared at General Klapka's levée. He seemed so old as to be nearly imbecile; but with singular persistence he came, always telling some endless tale of the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the Kourásoffs, and always demanding to see the supposed Vladimir. At last, one day, in a mingled fit of impatience and unusual good nature, General Klapka ordered him to be admitted to Count Kourásoff, where he talked and mumbled so incoherently that the count appeared unable to understand him and to be quite worn out with him. However, he continued to come at intervals, and his stupidity became a jest for the soldiers of the guard; but Count Loris understood from his wandering talk the exact state of affairs at Ivánofka during his absence.
Meanwhile the city was in a state of excitement difficult to describe. The arrest of Count Vladimir Kourásoff, as was supposed, followed by
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 that of several other officers and members of families of distinction, created a profound impression; but the Government seemed in no haste to bring the prisoners to trial, and they were treated with extraordinary leniency. There was great surprise manifested at the disappearance of Count Loris Kourásoff; but General Klapka did not hesitate to say that Count Loris knew enough of his brother's schemes to make his absence convenient, if not necessary.
All this time General Klapka was more and more devoted to Mademoiselle Orviéff. She treated him with an indifference that was not devoid of coquetry, but he seemed under a spell. I once asked her if she felt no stings of remorse when she remembered General Klapka's real and disinterested affection, however ungenerous he might be. She gave me a look that was meant to wither me. "If I would sacrifice myself and all that I have or could hope for Loris Kourásoff, do you suppose I would hesitate to sacrifice General Klapka too?" she said.
"I do not know," I answered dubiously. "Maria von Spreckeldsen sacrificed me to Herr Sachs: I know that much."
"Maria von Spreckeldsen!" she said contemptuously; and clasping her hands behind her back, like a child saying a puzzling lesson, she came and stood before me. "Do you mean to say—do you really mean to say—that the sentiment between you and Maria von Spreckeldsen could be called love?"
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Now, I thought this was very unkind of Mademoiselle Olga, and showed duplicity as well, for she had always professed the deepest sympathy for me in regard to my Maria, and a profound belief in the depth of my feelings.
"Come," said she, blushing, but straightening up her slim young figure, "do you know that when one loves as—as—"
"As you love Count Kourásoff," I said.
She took his picture from about her neck and kissed it for answer. "Very well, then; but men are so dense! You think that I love like that tedious Maria; General Klapka thinks he can persuade me to love him; while Count Loris thinks—I know not what. My heart is a mystery to every one of you, and to myself as well. Look what General Klapka brought me yesterday," she continued, producing from a cabinet a picture of him, elaborately set in a small gold frame. She was clever with her pencil and brush, and she had, with childish revenge, touched it up so that the general, who was anything but handsome, looked even uglier than Nature had made him.
I could not help laughing at the ludicrous effect, and, while she held it off at arm's length, she made a contemptuous face at it, besides several unflattering remarks; but she suddenly threw it down and burst into sobs and tears; "I sometimes wonder that I can laugh, for my heart always aches—always. I feel that Loris Kourásoff stands on the brink of an awful fate. That wretch is capable of anything; he would have him taken out
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 and shot any morning that he discovered we still love each other."
I tried to comfort her, but could not. I too felt a dreadful uncertainty.
"You may tell Count Loris this for me," she said, drying her tears, "that I long to see him, and if I can not see him by lawful means I will see him by unlawful means. I will conspire."
I repeated this imprudent speech to my friend, who sent her in return a stern command to put all thoughts of conspiring for her and for himself out of her head. I found she had arranged in her mind a very plausible plan, by which she was to penetrate to the interior of the fort, and, taking his place, suffer him to escape; but this fine scheme was brought to naught by the count's peremptory orders.
The weeks dragged slowly along. I had begun to feel even a sort of security for my friend, when all at once a volcano burst beneath our feet. One evening, on returning to the modest apartment in which I had lived in Wilna since Count Kourásoff's imprisonment, I found awaiting me a gentleman who politely informed me that my presence was required at General Klapka's headquarters. I had little to fear for myself, but I felt an alarm for those who were so dear to me; and I had lived long enough in Russia to know that the military governor of a province can ruin whom he will. I followed my companion with a composed countenance, but a sinking heart. Upon reaching the barracks I was ushered into a small room to await
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 General Klapka's pleasure, my polite captor remaining with me. To enliven my spirits, he dwelt upon the horrors of exile.
"But, my friend," I replied, "exile does not now mean what it did in the time of the Czar Peter. There are whole villages of prosperous inhabitants in Siberia, priests, school-masters, clerks, Government employés, all exiles, only the emperor prefers them to live in a certain part of his dominions."
"Ah," said he, sighing and shaking his head, "they are those who acknowledged their guilt and threw themselves on the mercy of the emperor. For those who persisted in calling themselves innocent, the mines—the railways—"
"But if I wished to call myself guilty, of what should I accuse myself? Of trying to get a settlement of my affairs with Count Kourásoff?" This view seemed to strike him so forcibly that he left me to my own sad fancies.
The hours dragged on until nearly midnight, when I was awakened from a heavy but troubled sleep before the stove by a messenger from General Klapka commanding my presence. I followed my guide to a small anteroom, where I saw the general at a table in an inner room, reading a closely-written paper. He motioned me to enter, and, rising, carefully closed the door after me. He was simply frightful in his anger. He thrust the paper at me, and I began to read it; it was a minute account of Vladimir Kourásoff's escape, of the true meaning of the visits of the village priest
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 and myself to Count Loris, of Olga Orviéff's faithful devotion to him—even a copy of a few lines she had once rashly conveyed to him.
While I was reading, he had taken his sword from the scabbard, and was passing the naked blade through his fingers with a sort of murderous delight. "I have you—the tool—and in a few minutes I shall have the principal," was the only remark he made to me.
I seemed to have waited hours, when there was a sudden and peremptory knock at the door. General Klapka rose and opened it immediately. Two members of the police and a figure completely enveloped in a large fur cloak stood outside. "Excellency, it was the prisoner who knocked so loudly," began each of the police in a breath; but General Klapka, motioning the prisoner to enter, abruptly closed the door.
The room was well lighted, and the person who entered, walking boldly forward, dropped the cloak, and Olga Orviéff stood revealed. She was in a brilliant ball-dress of pale and shining green, and pearls gleamed softly on her milk-white neck and arms. She made a profound and graceful courtesy to General Klapka, adroitly spreading out her rich train as she did so. "I had not looked for the pleasure of seeing General Klapka when only a few moments ago I was unexpectedly called from the ball," she said with a certain grand air that she knew very well how to assume; then, catching sight of me, she suddenly dropped her stately manner. "You here, my friend?" she
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 cried in a tone of laughing familiarity. "Have you been conspiring too?"
"Mademoiselle Orviéff, allow me to claim your attention first," said General Klapka. I looked at her to see if his infuriated presence had made any impression on her. If it had, it was only to arouse further her fearless spirit. He was still nervously feeling the edge of his sword. "You spoke just now of conspiring: conspiring may bring that white neck of yours into jeopardy," said he, looking as if he would like to try the blade on it.
She drew herself up and arched her proud neck. "Do you threaten me?" she said with cool scorn.
For answer he handed her with a low bow the paper I had read: "Read that, and see if I need to threaten."
She raised it with an air at once careless and coquettish, and, after reading a few lines, burst out laughing. "We are found out," she said, turning to me, "and General Klapka is vexed, I see, because I sometimes sent a tender message to my lover." When she said that, he made a spring at her which caused me to jump from my chair; but, instead of recoiling, she advanced two steps toward him, as he stood before her panting and furious. "Yes," she said in a clear, high voice, "to Count Loris Kourásoff."
"Mademoiselle, I implore you—" I began.
"What would you have me do?" she said, turning contemptuously to me. "If I am in his
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 power, will anything avail me now? and if I am not in his power, let me say what I please."
"Yes, say what you please," said General Klapka in an intense voice: "it will only bring his destruction a little nearer. If Count—if that—"
"Do not dare to speak Count Kourásoff's name before me!" she cried.
If a man like General Klapka could be cowed by anything, he might be said to have quailed under her voice and presence; she spoke distinctly, and raised her little hand as she advanced nearer him. She stopped abruptly and fanned herself. "Really," she said, "I am losing my temper. You, General Klapka, appear to have lost yours before I came."
"Do you know, Mademoiselle Orviéff, what it is to be secretly communicating with a state prisoner?" said General Klapka, recovering his coolness a little.
"And do you know what it is, General Klapka, to have the discipline of the garrison so lax that a state prisoner can be communicated with, even visited, by his friends and," laughing and nodding her head at me, "his accomplices."
General Klapka could only grind his teeth and mutter, "Communicating with a state prisoner."
"If I could have obtained Count Kourásoff's consent," she continued, casting down her eyes modestly, "I could have entered the fortress, and with the aid of my friend the village priest have actually married the man I love. I wish I had!"
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 she added, suddenly raising her eyes and opening them wide and bright.
If her object was to exasperate him still further, she was succeeding admirably, while he had not been able to intimidate her in the least degree. "Count Loris Kourásoff's life may pay for that wish," he said.
"You forget," she replied: "Count Kourásoff is only under arrest until his identity is established."
"Let him be brought to trial," said he, "and for a thousand rubles I can prove him to be Vladimir Kourásoff. You know what the moujiks say: 'Money can buy vengeance.'"
She turned slightly pale, and he seemed to gloat over this her first sign of discomfiture, when at that moment there was a loud commotion in the outer apartment and a vehement knock at the door. "Open! open!" cried a dozen eager voices.
When General Klapka opened the door, Vladimir Kourásoff walked in. He was haggard and unshorn—a piteous contrast to the handsome and dashing officer he had once been. "I surrender myself," said he to General Klapka. "I am Count Vladimir Kourásoff. I was in Geneva, safe, when I heard of my brother's arrest. I could not but come back." There was a deep pause. Vladimir continued in a collected manner: "I expected to find my brother exiled at the very least, but when I heard that he was still imprisoned here I communicated with some of his friends in St. Petersburg, who brought
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 the matter before the emperor, and they have his personal guaranty that if I surrender myself my brother shall be immediately released."
I confess I never expected anything so noble or magnanimous from Vladimir. I sat in speechless astonishment; General Klapka stared stupidly at him like a man in a dream; while Olga began to weep, clinging to Vladimir.
The next morning it was all over Wilna that Vladimir had surrendered himself, and that a telegram had been received from St. Petersburg ordering Count Loris to be set at liberty, but to remain in the city on a sort of honorable parole until the trial of the prisoners came off.
A crowd of his friends and well-wishers, and the multitude of idlers whom such occasions always collect, assembled at the prison-gates in the early afternoon to see him brought forth. My friend the village priest and myself stood next the gate.
"There are the two who so cruelly tormented Count Kourásoff during his captivity," began to be whispered around. Taunts and epithets were freely bestowed upon us, which soon changed to open-mouthed wonder; for when the great gates clanged wide open, and Count Loris with uncovered head walked forward, we were the first he saluted and embraced.
Vladimir escaped with a sentence of only seven years' exile, which, through his own good conduct and his brother's influence, was considerably shortened.
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Sometimes when I behold the happiness of the Count and Countess Kourásoff, I say to myself with a sigh. "This ideal life might have been mine with my adored Maria!"