on you."

"Nonsense, my good Ivan. I shall always be pleased to see you in
memory of those few moments we spent before the village ikon. Here is
an address to which you can always write me."

He felt very grateful to Ivan. If it had not been for the good
services of the "Cuckoo," he would never have been a Count of the
Russian Empire. He handed him an envelope on which he scribbled his
full title and description, addressed to the care of the Baron
Salmoros. Any letter directed to that quarter would be sure to reach
him, and he knew the Baron would be certain to pardon him for taking
the liberty.

* * * * *

A little later, in the leafy month of June, Corsini and his charming
young wife spent a week-end with Salmoros at his beautiful place,
Marwood Park, in Sussex.

Salmoros, with that spirit of unconscious ostentation which often
marks the _nouveau riche_, had built himself a very lordly pleasure
house, designed by an eminent architect. Although a childless man, and
a bachelor to boot, he had insisted upon a very spacious dwelling.

The eminent architect, a man of some humour, had remarked to him when
he laid before him the plans, "Most men, Baron, when they build
houses, build them too small; afterwards they have to enlarge. I have
made ample provision here for another wing, if it should be required.
It will not destroy the general scheme of the structure."

Of course, when the eminent architect made this suggestion, Salmoros
was comparatively a young man. He might marry and want to put aside
suites of rooms for his sons and daughters. The eminent architect had
this in his eye when he suggested the possibility of another wing.

Salmoros had agreed, but the other wing had never been built. He had
not married, and the house as it stood was spacious enough for his
wants.

Here he stored his valuable pictures, his rare china, his costly
antiques. His gardens were the best laid-out in England, his rock walk
was not to be equalled in the kingdom, his hot-houses were the pride
of the county.

Everything that money could purchase was his, not from a mere
common love of display, but that he would have everything of the
best--cellars stocked with the finest wines, cabinets filled with the
most choice cigars. A week-end with Salmoros was to the _bon viveur_
a period of ecstasy. Everything in that well-appointed _menage_ was
perfect.

Even Nada, accustomed to the splendours of the Zour