onted one another. The master of the black sleigh
was still enveloped in his cloak, only the gleam of his eyes, small and
black and crossed, was visible under the cap, his beaked nose and the
upward twist of his grey mustache.

The youth stood erect and angry; his head was bare, thrown back as a
young lion at bay, his dark hair falling like a mane, clustered in
waves about his broad, overhanging brows; strange brows and strange
eyes underneath. The mouth was sensitive, the chin short and rather
full, the whole aspect as of some one distinguished and out of the
ordinary.

They stared at one another for a moment and then the hand of the older
man dropped to his side. "I beg your pardon," he said, with some show
of apology in his tone, "Surely I must have made a mistake. Where have
I seen you before? You are no anarchist; pray, pardon me."

The young man was feeling his arm ruefully: "Good gracious, sir," he
said, "but you are hasty!--I never felt such a grip. The muscles are
quite sore already, but luckily it is the left arm, otherwise, Bozhe
moi[1], I vow I'd sue you!--If it were the fingers now, or the wrist--"

He took off his fur gloves and examined both hands carefully, one after
the other. A scornful look came over the older man's face:

"There was no excuse, my friend, for the way your troika rounded that
corner. Such driving is criminal in a public street. It's a mercy we
weren't all killed! Still, you really must pardon me, these anarchist
devils are everywhere nowadays and one has to take precautions. I was
hurrying to the Mariinski."

Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when there came the snapping of
two watch lids almost simultaneously, and both gentlemen gave a cry of
consternation.

"Oh, the deuce!" exclaimed the boy, "so was I, and look at the time if
you please; the House will be in an uproar!"

The older man hurried towards the already righted sleigh: "Most
unfortunate," he fumed, "and to-night of all nights! The entire
concert will be at a standstill. The rug, Pierre, quick the rug! Are
the horses ready? Hurry, you great lumbering son of an ox!"

The boy had already leaped into the troika and was wrapping the fur
robes about his knees. "We shall put in an appearance about the same
time, sir," he called back carelessly over his shoulder. "You won't
miss anything, not a note, if that will comfort you. Hey, Bobo, go
ahead! The concert can't begin without me."

"Without yo