Sophy of Kravonia

s down the Street of the Fountain from St. Michael's Square. It was no more than half a mile from her own villa on the south boulevard (from which the Street ran to th

of rooms where Meyerstein and his wife lived; above it one large room, with a window which jutted far out over the narrow street. In this room, which was reached by a se

oyed on the window-sill. The room was dark, for the path of light from the illuminations, which made the roadway below white, threw hardly a gleam on to its sombre walls; but So

em through the dusky blackness of the ancient room. In response to the confused yet clamorous cry of the life around her, her spirit awoke. Dead were the dear dead; but Sophy was alive. But to be a starving French mistress at Slavna-was that a chance? Yes, a better than being cook-maid at Morpingham; and even in the kitchen at Morpingham Fortune had found her and played with her awhile. For such frolics and su

uare a sideways craning of her neck enabled her to see. Then there was silence for minutes. Again the sound broke forth, and with

a moment when the present, the actual, lapped her round with its dim, muddy flood of vulgar necessity and sordid needs. With a sob she bowed her head to meet her hands-a sob that moaned

low, Mistitch sl

of three men. In the middle was one who bulked like a young Falstaff-Falstaff with his paunch not grown; he was flanked by two lean fellows who looked small beside him. She c

rough, plain dress; yet a broad, red ribbon crossed it, and a star glittered on the breast; the only weapon was a short, curved scimitar. It was the ancient costume of the Bailiff of Volseni, the head of that clan of shepherds who pastured their flocks on the uplands. The Prince of Slavna held the venerable office, and had been to Court in

een but lately before her dreaming eyes; she had seen it in t

hree had melted to one. With a shrill cry of consternation-of uneasy courage oozing out-Rastatz turned and fled back to the Square, heading at his top speed for the Golden Lion. In the end he was unequal to the encounter. Sterkoff, too, disappeared; but Sophy knew

show first in his eyes; it changed now to a cold anger as he recognized the Captain

has compelled you to disobey

h air," Mistitch answered,

e disgusted than angry now. He thought Mist

port yourself under stringent arre

ing as good as his word, he was acting up to the vaunts he h

er." He was almost up to Mistitc

to pass by," he said. "I won't hurt you. But t

forward was the word, and retreat impossible. Probably from this moment he did not intend the Prince to pass alive. Well, what he intended was the wish of many; he would not lack shelter, friends,

ess. Then he drew his scimitar. It looked a poor, weak weapon a

gentlemen!" th

ch plea at the court-martial," he said. "Gentlemen d

f a mortal combat. But she would not look-she tried not even to listen. Her eyes were for a man she could not see, her ears for a man she could not hear. She remembered the lean fellow hidden in the porch, straight under her w

as in that hole! Yet suddenly the Prince came into her view; he circled half-way round Mistitch, then sank on one knee; she heard him guard the Captain's lunges with lightning-quick movements of his nimble scimitar. He was trying the old trick they had pract

d of their pupil. Mistitch's big sword clattered on the flags. Facing his enemy, with his back to the porch, the Pr

out of the window. Yes, a lean hand with a long knife, a narrow head, a spare, long back, crept out of the darkness of the porch-crept silently. The body d

f, Captain Mistitc

conqueror and saw a shadow o

der, sir,

he barracks." Mistitch di

Mistitc

ashed the Virgin with the lamp. Sterkoff lay very still, save that his fingers scratched the flags. Turning, the Prince saw a

undone-nerves, courage, almost senses gone. He could stammer no more than: "They'll fight

brandt who made him speak. Forgetting his pretty friend, he sprang in among the officers, caught Rastatz by the throat, and put a revolver to his head.

t before he had finished; Max von Hollbrandt, with half th

eon's ministrations. Every soldier was ordered to his quarters, the townsfolk slunk off to their homes. The street grew empty, the glare of the illuminations

treet, looking from the dark splash of Mistitch's blood to the Virgin with her