uried in
the cushions, and still wearing her hat and furs, somebody came into
the room. And when she turned over she saw it was Ilse.

Palla sat up stupidly, the marks of tears still glistening under her
eyes. Ilse picked up the newspaper from the couch, laid it aside, and
seated herself.

"So you know about Vanya?" she said calmly.

Palla nodded.

"You don't know all. Marya called me on the telephone a few minutes
ago to tell me."

"Vanya is dead," whispered Palla.

"Yes. They found an unmailed letter directed to Marya in his pockets.
That's why they notified her."

After an interval: "So Vanya is dead," repeated Palla under her
breath.

Ilse sat plaiting the black edges of her handkerchief.

"It's such a--a senseless interruption--death----" she murmured. "It
seems so wanton, so meaningless in the scheme of things ... to make
two people wait so long--so long!--to resume where they had been
interrupted----"

Palla asked coldly whether Marya had seemed greatly shocked.

"I don't know, Palla. She called me up and told me. I asked her if
there was anything I could do; and she answered rather strangely that
what remained for her to do she would do alone. I don't know what she
meant."

* * * * *

Whether Marya herself knew exactly what she meant seemed not to be
entirely clear to her. For, when Mr. Puma, dressed in a travelling
suit and carrying a satchel, arrived at her apartment in the Hotel
Rajah, and entered the reception room with his soundless, springy
step, she came out of her bedroom partly dressed, and still hooking
her waist.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded contemptuously, looking him
over from, head to foot. "Did you really suppose I meant to go to
Mexico with you?"

His heavy features crimsoned: "What pleasantry is this, my Marya?----"
he began; but the green blaze in her slanting eyes silenced him.

"The difference," she said, "between us is this. You run from those
who threaten you. I kill them."

"Of--of what nonsense are you speaking!" he stammered. "All is
arranged that we shall go at eleven----"

"No," she said wearily, "one sometimes plays with stray animals for a
few moments--and that is all. And that is all I ever saw in you,
Angelo--a stray beast to amuse and entertain me between two yawns and
a cup of tea." She shrugged, still twisted lithely in her struggle to
hook her waist. "You may go," she added, not even looking at him,