that it was familiar. It was
even intimate, I thought, and I was conscious of a silent rage when I
heard it.

I sensed his words subconsciously, and yet I had thoroughly
comprehended them. He had spoken of a meeting of their "very good
friends" and I had no doubt to whom he referred; neither had I any
doubt at the moment, that this man talking so confidentially with the
princess, was one of the "marked" members of that rapidly widening
group of persons whom my busily engaged employees were learning to
know.

It was with a distinct shock, however, that I realized by virtue of the
intimate manner of the man, that Zara de Echeveria must also be
implicated with the nihilists, since he dared to speak to her so
openly, so masterfully, and with such confident reliance upon the
manner in which his communication would be received. Her reply
convinced me sufficiently, had I required added conviction at that
moment.

"I do not know," she said. "Say that I will send word to them in the
usual way, and at the earliest opportunity. Say that I was entirely
successful; that everything in Paris and Berlin is in the most
excellent condition, and that nothing--absolutely nothing, you
understand--must be done without my knowledge and permission."

"Our friends are becoming very impatient, Zara."

"Zara!" I unconsciously repeated the name after him, but it was under
my breath, so that not a sound escaped me. Who could this man be who
dared to address my princess by her given name, for in my secret soul
she was my princess still, even though she had already said enough to
convince me that she was an enemy to the czar whom I was serving.

"Let them. They must wait," she responded, with decision. "I will not
be hurried. They are sworn to obey me. Tell them to await my pleasure.
It is enough."

"There are some among them--you know who they are--who chafe under this
restraint, Zara. I am afraid that they will get beyond your control
unless something is done speedily."

"Let those who are loyal to me serve _them_ as _they_ would serve
Alexander, if there is any sign of insubordination," was the haughty
rejoinder. "Such is my order; and now, Ivan, you must go. Stay though!
What of Jean Moret?"

"He is dead."

"Dead? Do you know that to be true?"

"No. He has disappeared from the palace, nobody knows whither. He has
not gone to Siberia and our agents cannot find him in the city prisons.
We have made every effort. Doubtless he betraye