Paulina, though
nothing to him now, would be faithful in caring for them, as far as
food, clothing and shelter were concerned. She would dismiss her
boarders. There had never been need of her taking boarders, but
for the fraud of a wicked man. It was at this point that he needed
help. Would Mrs. Fitzpatrick permit him to send her money from time
to time which should be applied to the support of Paulina and the
children. He would also pay her for her trouble.

At this Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who had been listening impatiently for
some moments, broke forth upon him.

"Ye can kape yer money," she cried wrathfully. "What sort av a man
are ye, at all, at all, that ye sind yer helpless childer to a
strange land with a scut like that?"

"Paulina was an honest woman once," he interposed.

"An' what for," she continued wrathfully, "are ye lavin' thim now
among a pack o' haythen? Look at that girl now, what'll come to her
in that bloody pack o' thieves an' blackguards, d'ye think? Howly
Joseph! It's mesilf that kapes wakin' benights to listen fer the
screams av her. Why don't ye shtay like a man by yer childer an'
tell me that?"

"My affairs--" began the Russian, with a touch of hauteur in his tone.

"An' what affairs have ye needin' ye more than yer childer?
Tell me that, will ye?"

And truth to tell, Mrs. Fitzpatrick's indignation blazed forth not
only on behalf of the children, but on behalf of the unfortunate
Paulina as well, whom, in spite of herself, she pitied.

"What sort av a heart have ye, at all, at all?"

"A heart!" cried the Russian, rising from his chair. "Madam,
my heart is for my country. But you would not understand.
My country calls me."

"Yer counthry!" repeated Mrs. Fitzpatrick with scorn.
"An' what counthry is that?"

"Russia," said the man with dignity, "my native land."

"Rooshia! An' a bloody country it is," answered Mrs. Fitzpatrick
with scorn.

"Yes, Russia," he cried, "my bloody country! You are correct.
Red with the blood of my countrymen, the blood of my kindred this
hundred years and more." His voice was low but vibrant with passion.
"You cannot understand. Why should I tell you?"

At this juncture Timothy sprang to his feet.

"Sit ye down, dear man, sit ye down! Shut yer clapper, Nora!
Sure it's mesilf that knows a paythriot whin I sees 'im.
Tear-an-ages! Give me yer hand, me boy. Sit ye down an' tell us
about it. We're all the same kind here. Niver fear for the woman,
she's the wors