Then she slackened her pace and crept along as noiselessly as possible, her eyes fixed upon him as she walked and evidently doing her best not to overtake him nor to be seen by him.

As luck would have it, however, the Count suddenly stood still before the show window of a picture-dealer's shop.

A clever painting of a solitary Cossack riding along a stony mountain road, by Josef Brandt, had attracted his attention.

Then as he realised that he had looked at the picture a dozen times during the previous week, his eye wandered, and in the reflection of the plate-glass window he caught sight of Vjera's slight form at no great distance from him.

He turned sharply upon his heels and met her eyes, taking off his limp hat with a courteous gesture.
"Permit me," he said, laying his hand upon the basket and trying to take it from her.
Poor Vjera's face flushed suddenly, and her grip tightened upon the straw handle and she refused to let it go.
"No, you shall never do that again," she said, quickly, trying to draw back from him.
"And why not?
Why should I not do you a service ?" "The other day you took it--the people stared at you--they never stare at me, for I am only a poor girl--" "And what are the people or what is their staring to me ?" asked the Count, quietly.