own garments, more of which
were scattered about the room. Looking from her dishevelled figure to
the box, the significance of her evident occupation was suddenly borne
in upon him.

The question which had risen to his lips was prevented by the woman's
exclamation, made in a voice whose usual velvet tones--how long familiar
to him!--were now broken and harsh and strained by her palpable emotion:

"_You_ here, Ivan!--_You!_"

He raised his eyes to hers, looking her calmly in the face; for,
suddenly, by her confusion, his self-control had returned to him, and he
felt his power. "Yes, Irina; I have come for a special purpose.
But--you--" he looked doubtfully from her to the trunk, "you--and
Joseph--are leaving this house?"

"No!--Ah, wait, wait, I will tell you!--Will you sit down?"

Ivan turned to obey her, and, an instant later, found himself alone.
Irina had disappeared into the adjoining bedroom, whence she emerged, in
a very short space of time, clad in a tea-gown that bore the air--and
the name--of the greatest of Parisian _couturieres_. Her appearance
corresponded with the garment; for Irina's dramatic instinct for effect
was unfailing; and, penniless and debt-laden though she was, no Duchesse
of St.-Germain could have surpassed her now in beauty and in _chic_.

As she entered the room and seated herself on the couch with a manner
and a smile that affected him powerfully, a great discouragement came
upon the man. He was here on man's business: to fight with a weak man
against that man's weakness. How was he to cope with a woman: and, above
all, such a woman as this?

As the question passed through his mind, Irina herself answered it:

"Eh bien, Monsieur le Prince, you have come, I am sure, to help that
poor Joseph! Is it not so?--Let us forget the acquaintance which we have
had, you and I. Let us speak of that little one who, in his heart,
worships you, monsieur, though you have not come to him. Well, you hear
of his debts? of his disgrace? his fever for play?--So, at last, you
yield: you come!--Good!--You find me here. I embarrass you. Neanmoins, I
tell you, monsieur, that I, also, in my way--I, who have so hurt him,
pauvre enfant! am at last wishful for his repentance and recovery.

"You have asked me if _we_, _Joseph et moi_, were leaving this place. I
tell you no. _I_ am leaving it. _I!_ To-night, when that boy comes back
from the 'Masque,' he shall find himself once more unencumbered.--Well,
I have al