trange country. Death comes quickly there."

He had still upon his lips that inexplicable smile, jesting and sad at
once.

Menko grasped the long, white hand extended to him.

"My dear Labanoff, it is not difficult to guess that you are going on
some dangerous errand." Smiling: "I will not do you the injustice to
believe you a nihilist."

Labanoff's blue eyes flashed.

"No," he said, "no, I am not a nihilist. Annihilation is absurd; but
liberty is a fine thing!"

He stopped short, as if he feared that he had already said too much.

"Adieu, my dear Menko."

The Hungarian detained him with a gesture, saying, with a tremble in his
voice:

"Labanoff! You have found me when a crisis in my life is also impending.
I am about, like yourself, to commit a great folly; a different one from
yours, no doubt. However, I have no right to tell you that you are about
to commit some folly."

"No," calmly replied the Russian, very pale, but still smiling, "it is
not a folly."

"But it is a danger?" queried Menko.

Labanoff made no reply.

"I do not know either," said Michel, "how my affair will end. But, since
chance has brought us together today, face to face--"

"It was not chance, but my own firm resolution to see you again before my
departure."

"I know what your friendship for me is, and it is for that reason that I
ask you to tell me frankly where you will be in a month."

"In a month?" repeated Labanoff.

"Give me the route you are going to take? Shall you be a fixture at St.
Petersburg?"

"Not immediately," responded the Russian, slowly, his gaze riveted upon
Menko. "In a month I shall still be at Warsaw. At St. Petersburg the
month after."

"Thanks. I only ask you to let me know, in some way, where you are."

"Why?"

"Because, I should like to join you."

"You!"

"It is only a fancy," said Menko, with an attempt at a laugh. "I am bored
with life--you know it; I find it a nuisance. If we did not spur it like
an old, musty horse, it would give us the same idiotic round of days. I
do not know--I do not wish to know--why you are going to Russia, and what
this final farewell of which you have just spoken signifies; I simply
guess that you are off on some adventure, and it is possible that I may
ask you to allow me to share it."

"Why?" said Labanoff, coldly. "You are not a Russian."

Menko smiled, and, placing his hands upon the thin shoulders of his
friend, he said:

"Those words reveal many thing