ing of these three letters: U. S. S.?"

Maria answered with a smile:

"_Ud slovenske stridnosce._"[12]

[Footnote 12: "Member of the Slavonic League;" the language is Slovak.]

Then the master did indeed press the hand offered to him.

"Come inside!" said he, himself escorting the stranger, whilst the
peasants, obsequiously raising their caps, made a way for them right up
to the door.

The master dismissed everyone from the room, and when they two were
alone asked excitedly in Russian:

"You come from Russia, you say? From what part of Russia?"

"From the eternal city where stand the golden gates of the Kremlin,"
answered Maria, also in the Russian tongue.

All Bodza's doubts instantly disappeared.

"What news in the Empire since the death of Romulus?"

Maria knew very well whom was meant by Romulus. It was none other than
Muraviev, who was to be the builder of the walls of the new Rome, which
was ere long to be the Lord of the whole earth.

Maria was no proselyte of this extravagant confederacy, but, living, as
she did, nearer to the main source of it all, she was better able, with
the assistance of current rumours and her own lively imagination, to
amuse Thomas Bodza with more fables than he could have told her.

"Romulus is not dead, Romulus is still alive," whispered she to the
interrogator mysteriously.

"How so?" asked Bodza, much surprised; "where is he then?"

"He has disappeared--like Romulus. The Gods have taken him!"--and Maria
smiled enigmatically, as if she could reveal a great deal more if she
only chose.

Bodza seized her hand violently.

"And in his own time he will appear again, eh?"

The only answer Maria gave was to press his hand significantly.

"Then it is true that they have not beheaded him?" continued the master
excitedly, "and one of his good spiritual brethren sacrificed himself in
his stead?"

"It was my own brother," said Maria, covering her eyes with her hands.
Then she suddenly placed her hand on the master's shoulder. "Weep not
for him!" she cried. "Look! _I_ do not weep, and yet he was my brother.
Romulus still lives and demands sacrifice and obedience from us all."

The master pressed Maria's hand still more warmly.

"What is thy name, my beloved brother?"

"My name is Fabius Cunctator!" said Maria, well aware of the weakness of
these visionaries for classical names.

"_My_ name is Numa Pompilius," said Bodza, tossing back his head with
proud self-consciousn