Martin led the way into the house, along a dimly lighted corridor, to a door which stood ajar.  Outside the night was cold; within were warmth and comfort.  Martin went into the long room.  At the far end, beneath the lamp and near an open wood fire, the prince and Wanda were sitting.  They were in evening dress, and the prince was dozing in his chair.

“I have brought Kos to see you,” said Martin, and, turning, he looked towards the door.  The convict’s son, the convict, came forward with that ease which, to be genuine, must be quite unconscious.  He apparently gave no thought to his sandy and wrinkled top-boots, from which the original black had long since been washed away by the waters of the Vistula.  He wore his working-clothes as if they were the best habit for this or any other palace.  He took Wanda’s hand and kissed it in the old-world fashion, which has survived to this day in Poland.  But the careless manner in which he raised her fingers to his lips would have showed quite clearly to a competent observer that neither Wanda nor any other woman had ever touched his heart.

“You will excuse my getting up,” said the prince.  “My gout is bad to-night.  You will have something to eat?”

“Thank you, I have eaten,” replied Kosmaroff, drawing forward a chair.

Martin put the logs together with his foot, and they blazed up, lighting with a flickering glow the incongruous group.

“He will take a glass of port,” said the prince, turning to Wanda, and indicating the decanter from which, despite his gout, he had just had his after-dinner wine.

Wanda poured out the wine and handed it to Kosmaroff, who took it with a glance and a quick smile of thanks, which seemed to indicate that he was almost one of the family.  And, indeed, they were closely related, not only in the present generation, but in bygone days.  For Kosmaroff represented a family long since deemed extinct.

“I have come,” he said, “to tell you that all is safe.  Also to bid you good-bye.  As soon as I can get employment I shall go down to Thorn to stir them up there.  They are lethargic at Thorn.”

“Ah!” laughed the prince, moving his legs to a more comfortable position, “you young men!  You think everybody is lethargic.  Don’t move too quickly.  That is what I always preach.”

“And we are ready enough to listen to your preaching,” answered Kosmaroff.  “You will admit that I came here to-night in obedience to your opinion that too much secrecy is dangerous because it leads to misunderstandings.  Plain speaking and clear understanding was the message you sent me—­the text of your last sermon.”

With his quick smile Kosmaroff touched the rim of the prince’s wineglass, which stood at his elbow, and indicated by a gesture that he drank his health.

“That was not my text—­that was Wanda’s,” answered the prince.

“Ah!” said Kosmaroff, looking towards Wanda.  “Is that so?  Then I will take it.  I believe in Wanda’s views of life.  She has a vast experience.”