There was a certain arrogance, a certain contempt in his glance now as it swept the inoffensive coats and rugs of the departed travellers, a certain antagonism as he sat up, tossed back the lock of hair that had again fallen across his forehead, and turned his eyes to the heap of papers lying upon the carriage floor.
For long he gazed upon these papers, as though they exercised a magnetic influence, and at last, with a swift impulse, extremely characteristic, he stretched out his arm and drew forth the lowest of the heap.
He regained his former position with a quick, lithe movement of the body, and in an instant he was poring over the paper, the pages turning with incredible speed under the eagerness of his touch.

At last he reached the page he sought, the page that had offered ground for discussion to the three voyagers an hour earlier.
His eyes flashed, his fingers tightened, his dark head was bent lower over the paper.

Two pictures confronted him.

The first was of a woman in Russian court dress, who wore her jewels and her splendor of apparel with an air of pride and careless supremacy that had in it something magnificent, something semi-barbaric.

The boy looked at this curious and arresting picture, but only for a moment; by some affinity, some subtle attraction, his eyes turned instantly to the second portrait--the girl carrying the gun--and as if in answer to some secret sympathy, some silent comprehension, the frown upon his brows relaxed and his lips parted.
It was still the woman of the jewels and the splendid apparel, but it was a woman infinitely free, infinitely unhampered.