onation that clings to the Russian
voice.

CHAPTER V

So the step was taken, and two souls, drawn together from different
countries, different races, touched in a first subtle fusion. With an
ease kindled by the fine and stinging air, stimulated by the crisp
summons of the flutes and the martial rattle of the drums, they bridged
the thousand preliminaries that usually hedge a friendship, and arrived
in a moment of intuition at that consciousness of fellowship that is the
most divine of human gifts.

As though the affair had been prearranged through countless ages, they
turned by one accord and forced a way through the crowd that still
encompassed them. Across the Place de la Concorde they went, past the
white statues, past the open space through which the soldiers were still
defiling like a dark stream in a snowbound country. Each was drawn
instinctively toward the Cours la Reine--the point from whence the
stream was pouring, the point where the crowd of loiterers was sparsest,
where the bare and frosted trees caught the sun in a million dancing
facets. Reaching it, the boy looked up into the stranger's face with his
fascinating look of question and interest.

"Monsieur, tell me something! How did you know me again? And why did you
speak to me?"

The question was grave, with the charming gravity that was wont to cross
his gayety as shadows chase each other across a sunlit pool. His lips
were parted naively, his curious slate-gray eyes demanded the truth.

[Illustration: TWO SOULS, DRAWN TOGETHER, TOUCHED IN A FIRST SUBTLE
FUSION]

The Irishman recognized the demand, and answered it.

"Now that you put it to me," he said, thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that I
can tell you. There's something about you--" His thoughtfulness
deepened, and he studied the boy through narrowed eyes. "It isn't that
you're odd in any way."

The boy reddened.

"It isn't that you're odd," he insisted, "but somehow you're such a slip
of a boy--" His voice grew meditative and he recurred to his native
trick of phrasing, as he always did when interested or moved.

"But why did you speak to me? I'm not interesting."

"Oh yes, you are!"

"How am I interesting?" There was a flash in the gray eyes that revealed
new flecks of gold.

The Irishman hesitated.

"Well, I can't explain it," he said, slowly, "unless I tell you that you
throw a sort of spell--and that sounds absurd. You see, I've knocked
about the world a bit, east and w