in southeastern Europe.

VIII

BY MESSENGER

On the morning after the strange happenings in the garden, Kalora sat by
one of the cross-barred windows overlooking a side street, and envied
the humble citizens and unimportant woman drifting happily across her
field of vision.

Never in all her life had she walked out alone. The sweet privilege of
courting adventure had been denied her. And yet she felt, on this
morning, an almost intimate acquaintance with the outside world, for had
she not talked with a valorous young man who could leap over high walls
and subdue giants and pay compliments? He had thrown a sudden glare of
romance across her lonesome pathway. The few minutes with him seemed to
encompass everything in life that was worth remembering. She told
herself that already she liked him better than any other young man she
had met, which was not surprising, for he had been the first to sit
beside her and look into her eyes and tell her that she was beautiful.
She knew that whatever of wretchedness the years might hold in store for
her, no local edict could rob her of one precious memory. She had locked
it up and put it away, beyond the reach of courts and relatives.

During many wakeful hours she had recalled each minute detail of that
amazing interview in the garden, and had tried to estimate and
foreshadow the young man's plan of escape from the secret police.

Perhaps he had been taken during the night. The greatest good fortune
that she could picture for him was a quick flight across the frontier,
which meant that he would never return--that she had seen him once and
could not hope to see him again.

In her contemplation of the luminous figure of the Only Young Man, she
had ceased to speculate concerning her own misfortunes. The fact of her
disgrace remained in the background, eclipsed--not in evidence except as
a dim shadow over the day.

While she sat immovable, gazing into the street, feeling within herself
a tumult which was not of pain, nor yet of pleasure, but a satisfactory
commingling of both, she heard her name spoken. Popova was standing in
the doorway. He greeted her with a smile and bow, both of which struck
her as being singularly affected, for he was not given to polite
observances. As he squatted near her, she noticed that he was tremulous
and seemed almost frightened about something.

"I have come to tell you that I regret exceedingly the--the distressing
incident of yesterday,