"Highness," he said humbly, "this gentleman is a friend of mine. Trust old Israel Kensky, Highness!"
"I trust you, Israel Kensky," she replied in Russian, and with the sweetest smile that Malcolm had ever seen in a woman.
She bowed slightly to the young man, and for the rest of the interview her eyes and speech were for the Jew. He brought a chair forward for her, dusted it carefully, and she sat down by the table, leaning her chin on her palm, and looking at the old man.
"I could not come before," she said. "It was so difficult to get away."
"Your Highness received my letter?"
She nodded.
"But Israel," her voice almost pleaded, "you do not believe that this thing would happen?"
"Highness, all things are possible," said the old man. "Here in London the cellars and garrets teem with evil men."
"But the police" she began.
"The police cannot shelter you, Highness, as they do in our Russia."
"I must warn the Grand Duke," she said thoughtfully, "and"—she hesitated, and a shadow passed over her face—"and the Prince. Is it not him they hate?"
