the world which may not become a home to
him, no land among whose people he may not find friends, no government
whose laws shall trouble him. Alban's old nomadic habits brought these
truths to his mind again as he walked briskly down the avenue and filled
his lungs with the fresh breezes of that sunny morning. Why should he
return to the Count at all? What was Gessner's money to him now? He
cared less for it than the stones beneath his feet; he would not have
purchased an hour's command of a princely fortune for one of these
precious moments.

He was not alone in the streets. The electric cars had already commenced
to run and there were many soberly dressed work-people hurrying to the
factories. It was difficult to believe that this place had been the
scene of a civic battle yesterday, or to picture the great avenues, with
their pretty trees, tall and stately houses and fine broad pavements, as
the scene of an encounter bloody beyond all belief. Not a sign now
remained of all this conflict. The dead had already been carried to the
mortuaries; the prisoners were safe at the police-stations where, since
sundown, the whips had been so busy that their lashes were but crimson
shreds. True there were Cossacks at many a street corner and patrols
upon some of the broader thoroughfares--but of Revolutionaries not a
trace. These, after the patient habits of their race, would go to work
to-day as though yesterday had never been. Not a tear would be shed
where any other eye could see it--not a tear for the children whose
voices were forever silent or the mothers who had perished that their
sons might live. Warsaw had become schooled to the necessity of
sacrifice. Freedom stood upon the heights, but the valley was the valley
of the shadow of death.

Alban realized this in a dim way, for he had heard the story from many a
platform in Whitechapel. Perhaps he had enough selfishness in his nature
to be glad that the evil sights were hidden from his eyes. His old
craving for journeying amid narrow streets came upon him here in Warsaw
and held him fascinated. Knowing nothing of the city or its environment,
he visited the castle, the barracks, the Saxon gardens, watched the
winding river Vistula and the Praga suburb beyond, and did not fail to
spy out the old town, lying beneath the guns of the fortress, a maze of
red roofs and tortuous streets and alleys wherein the outcasts were
hiding. To this latter he turned by some good instinct whi