very much alone and
unhappy--also in danger not only from your political
enemies, but also from the American natives in the far away
woods in which you have been given occupation. I trust, such
as it is, that you have taken adequate measures to protect
yourself. I know little of America, but I have a longing to
go to that splendid country, rugged in its primitive
simplicity, in spite of inconveniences of travel and the
mass of uncultured beings with whom one must come into
contact. Do you think it would be possible for a spoiled
creature like me to find a boudoir with a bath--that is, in
the provinces, outside of New York?

"It is terrible that you can have no music in your life! I
too miss your music, _Pietro mio_, as I miss you. Perhaps
one day soon you will see me. I am restless and bored to
extinction, with these ramrods of Englishmen who squeeze my
rings into my fingers. But if I come I will be discreet
toward Peter Nichols. That was a clever invention of yours.
It really sounds--quite--American.

"_Garde toi bien, entendez vous? Tout de suite je viendrai.
Au revoir._

"ANASTASIE."

Peter read the letter through twice, amused, astounded and dismayed by
turns. His surmise in regard to the stranger with the black mustache had
been correct then. The man was a spy of the Russian Soviets. And so
instead of having been born immaculate into a new life, as he had
hoped--a man without a past, and only a future to be accounted for--he
was only the Grand Duke Peter after all. And Anastasie! Why the devil
did she want to come nosing about in America, reminding him of all the
things that he wanted to forget? The odor of her sachet annoyed him. A
bath and boudoir! He realized now that she had always annoyed him with
her pretty silly little affectations and her tawdry smatterings of the
things that were worth while. He owed her nothing. He had made love to
her, of course, because that was what a woman of her type expected from
men of his. But there had been no damage done on either side, for he had
not believed that she had ever really cared. And now distance, it
seemed, had made her heart grow fonder, distance and the romantic
circumstances of his exile.

It was kind of her, of course, to let him know of his danger, but only
human after all. She could have done no less, having the information.
And