t under our very eyes! And this
pendant, too: it would have been a pity to lose it. Upon my word, I
ought to have handed him over to the police."

"No, no!" cried Sonia. "You did quite right to let him off--quite
right."

The Duke set the pendant on the ledge of the bureau, and came down the
hall to Sonia.

"What's the matter?" he said gently. "You're quite pale."

"It has upset me ... that unfortunate boy," said Sonia; and her eyes
were swimming with tears.

"Do you pity the young rogue?" said the Duke.

"Yes; it's dreadful. His eyes were so terrified, and so boyish. And, to
be caught like that ... stealing ... in the act. Oh, it's hateful!"

"Come, come, how sensitive you are!" said the Duke, in a soothing,
almost caressing tone. His eyes, resting on her charming, troubled
face, were glowing with a warm admiration.

"Yes; it's silly," said Sonia; "but you noticed his eyes--the hunted
look in them? You pitied him, didn't you? For you are kind at bottom."

"Why at bottom?" said the Duke.

"Oh, I said at bottom because you look sarcastic, and at first sight
you're so cold. But often that's only the mask of those who have
suffered the most.... They are the most indulgent," said Sonia slowly,
hesitating, picking her words.

"Yes, I suppose they are," said the Duke thoughtfully.

"It's because when one has suffered one understands.... Yes: one
understands," said Sonia.

There was a pause. The Duke's eyes still rested on her face. The
admiration in them was mingled with compassion.

"You're very unhappy here, aren't you?" he said gently.

"Me? Why?" said Sonia quickly.

"Your smile is so sad, and your eyes so timid," said the Duke slowly.
"You're just like a little child one longs to protect. Are you quite
alone in the world?"

His eyes and tones were full of pity; and a faint flush mantled Sonia's
cheeks.

"Yes, I'm alone," she said.

"But have you no relations--no friends?" said the Duke.

"No," said Sonia.

"I don't mean here in France, but in your own country.... Surely you
have some in Russia?"

"No, not a soul. You see, my father was a Revolutionist. He died in
Siberia when I was a baby. And my mother, she died too--in Paris. She
had fled from Russia. I was two years old when she died."

"It must be hard to be alone like that," said the Duke.

"No," said Sonia, with a faint smile, "I don't mind having no
relations. I grew used to that so young ... so very young. But what is
hard--but yo