She tore the letter into small pieces and threw it behind the heap of snow at the back of the seat upon which she sat.  Then she rose, looked at the bunch of violets still lying where she had laid them, and walked slowly away.  She glanced over her shoulder at the old man sitting beneath the leafless trees at the other side of the broad avenue.  He sat huddled within the high collar of his coat and heeded nothing.  There was no one near to the seat that she had just vacated, and Martin was now going towards it.  She hurried to the Saxon Palace, and as she passed beneath its arches turned just in time to see Martin bend over the stone seat and take up his talisman.  He did it without disguise or haste.  Any one may pick up a flower, especially one that has been dropped by a pretty girl.

Martin walked on, and turned to the left down the path that leads to the Kotzebue gate.

Then the old man on the seat nearly opposite to that upon which Netty had been sitting seemed to arouse himself from the lethargy of misery.  He turned his head within his high collar, and watched Martin until he was out of sight.  Netty had disappeared almost at once beneath the arches of the covered passages of the palace.

After a pause the old man rose, and crossing the pathway, sat down on the seat vacated by Netty.  He waited there a few minutes until the passers-by had their backs turned towards him, and there was no one near enough to notice his movements.  Then he stepped, nimbly enough, across the bank of gray snow, and collected the pieces of the letter which Netty had thrown there.  He brought them back to the stone seat and spread them out there, like parts of a puzzle.  He was, it seemed, an expert at such things; for in a moment he had them in order, and had pieced together the upper half of the paper.  Moreover, he must have been a linguist; the note was written in English, and this Warsaw waif of the public gardens seemed to read it without difficulty.

“That of which you will not let me tell you is for to-night,” he read, and instantly felt for his watch within the folds of his ancient clothing.  It was not yet mid-day.  But the man seemed suddenly in a flurry, as if there were more to be done before nightfall than he could possibly compass.

He collected the papers and placed them carefully inside a shabby purse.  Then he rose and departed in the direction of the governor-general’s palace.  He must have been pressed for time, for he quite forgot to walk with the deliberation that would have beseemed his apparent years.

Netty walked round the outside of the gardens, and ultimately turned into the Senatorska, the street recommended to her by her uncle as being composed of the best shops in the town.  Oddly enough, she met Joseph Mangles there—­not loitering near the windows, but hurrying along.

“Ah!” he said, “thought I might meet you here.”

He was, it appeared, as simple as other old gentlemen, and leaped to the conclusion that if Netty was out-of-doors she must necessarily be in the Senatorska.  He suited his pace to hers.  His head was thrust forward, and he appeared to have something to think about, for he offered no remark for some minutes.