leading off and through a door which, from its dimensions, suggested the entrance to a throne-room, into a suite gorgeously furnished and resplendent with silver electroliers. It consisted of a saloon leading into a bedroom, which was furnished in the same exquisite taste. A further door led to a marble-tiled bathroom.
"Such luxury!" murmured Malcolm.
"Has the gospodar any orders?"
It was the solemn Boolba who spoke. Malcolm looked at him.
"Tell me this, Boolba," he said, falling into the familiar style of address which experience had taught him was the correct line to follow when dealing with Russian servants, "how came it that your mistress was alone before the house of Israel Kensky, the Jew, and you were on the outskirts of the crowd urging them on?"
If the man felt any perturbation at the bluntness of the question he did not show it.
"Kensky is a Jew," he said coolly; "on the night of the Pentecost he takes the blood of new-born Christian babies and sprinkles his money so that it may be increased in the coming year. This Sophia Kensky, his own daughter, has told me."
Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.
"You are no ignorant moujik, Boolba," he said contemptuously, "you have travelled with his
