“Helas, yes.  I am in the worst kind of trouble that exists for a Russian.  I am in political trouble—­and that entails everything else.”

“Tell me all about it,” said she.  “Perhaps I may help you.”

“Ah no! you cannot help.  It is not for that I am come.  I have a confession to make that concerns you.”

“Well?” said she, with a smile.  She did not suppose it could be anything very bad.

“You will be angry, of course,” he said, “but that is nothing.  I have done you an injury that I cannot repair.”

“Enfin, my dear Nicholas, tell me.  I do not believe anything bad of you.”

“You are kindness itself, and I thank you in advance.  Wait till you have heard.  I am ’suspect,’—­they think I am a Nihilist I am exiled to the mines, and everything is confiscated.  Voila!  Could it be worse?”

Margaret was taken off her guard.  She had herself been in more than easy circumstances at the time of her marriage, but the financial crisis in America, which occurred soon after that event, had greatly crippled her resources.  She had of late looked chiefly to her jointure for all the luxuries which were so necessary to her life.  To find this suddenly gone, in a moment, without the slightest preparation, was extremely embarrassing.  She covered her eyes with one hand for a moment to collect her thoughts and to try and realise the extent of the disaster.  Nicholas mistook the gesture.

“You will never forgive me, I know.  I do not deserve that you should.  But I will do all in my power to repair the evil.  I will go to Siberia if they will consider your rights to the estate.”

Margaret withdrew her hand, and looked earnestly at the young man.

“Forgive you?” said she.  “My dear Nicholas, you do not suppose I seriously think there is anything to forgive?”

“But it is true,” he said piteously; “in ruining me they have ruined you.  Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!  If I only had a friend—­”

“Taisez vous donc, mon ami.  It is everything most bete what you say.  You have many friends, and as for me, I do not care a straw for the money.  Only if I had known I would not have left Europe.  Voila tout.”

“Ah, that is it,” said Nicholas.  “I escaped the police and hurried to Baden.  But you were gone.  So I took the first steamer and came here.  But I have waited ten days, and it was only last night I saw in the papers that you had arrived yesterday morning.  And here I am.”

Margaret rose, from a feeling that she must move about—­the restless fiend that seizes energetic people in their trouble.  Nicholas thought it was a sign for him to go.  He took his hat.

“Believe me—­” he began, about to take his leave.

“You are not going?” said Margaret.  “Oh no.  Wait, and we will think of some expedient.  Besides you have not told me half what I want to know.  The money is of no consequence; but what had you done to lead to such a sentence?  Are you really a Nihilist?”