I am only an humble steel-maker, but I am for you and I want to see you again and tell you right to your face what I think of you.  If you will sort of happen to be in the garden at 4 p.m. to-morrow (Thursday), I will come over the wall at the very spot I picked out to-day.  I know that this method of becoming acquainted with young women is not indorsed by the Ladies’ Home Journal or Beatrice Fairfax, but, as nearly as I can find out, there is no other way in which I can get into society over here.

So far as the bloodhounds of the law are concerned, don’t give them a thought.  I have met, the great Koldo, and he won’t know until about next Sunday that yesterday was Tuesday.  The professor has promised to bring a reply to the hotel.  He is not on.

  Sincerely,
  YOUR GERMAN FRIEND.

She read it all and found herself gasping—­surprised, frightened, and moved to a fluttering delight.  She had thought of him as skulking in byways, of concealing his name and attempting to disguise himself so that he might dodge through the meshes woven by the invincible Koldo, and here he was, still flaunting himself at the hotel and calmly preparing to repeat his hazardous experiment.

“He is a fool!” she exclaimed, forgetting that Popova was present.

“I trust the message has not offended you,” said the tutor, decidedly alarmed at her agitation and not understanding what it meant.

“I tell you he is a fool—­a fool!” she repeated.  And while Popova wondered, she sprang to her feet and ran to him and gave him a muscular embrace around the tender portion of his neck, for he still squatted after the oriental manner, even though he wore a long black coat of German make.

“I consented to bring it because he was most urgent, and seemed a proper sort of person,” began Popova, “and not knowing the contents—­”

“Bless you, I am not offended,” interrupted Kalora, and then, looking at the letter again, she burst into happy laughter.

The young stranger was unquestionably a fool.  She had not dreamed that any one could be so reckless and heedless, so contemptuous of the dread machinery of the law, so willing to risk his very life for the sake of—­of seeing her again!

“If he has been impertinent, possibly you will take no notice of his communication,” suggested Popova.

“Oh, I must—­I must at least acknowledge the receipt of it.  Common courtesy demands that.  I shall write just a few lines and you must take them to him at once.  He seems to be a very forward person unacquainted with our local customs, and so I shall formally thank him and suggest to him that any further correspondence would be inadvisable.  That’s the really proper thing to do, don’t you think?”

“Possibly.”

“Then wait here until I have written it, and unless you wish me to go to my father and tell him something that would put an end to your illustrious career, deliver this message within a hour—­deliver it yourself.  Give it to him and to no one else.”