He found himself face to face with a young girl, who stopped at the street door of the tobacconist's house, just as he reached it.

Her head was muffled in something dark and he could not distinguish her features.

She started on seeing him, hesitated and then laid her hand upon the same knob which Schmidt had pulled so often in vain.
"It is of no use to ring," he said, quietly.

"I have given it up." "Herr Schmidt!" exclaimed the girl in evident delight.

It was Vjera.
"Yes--but, in Heaven's name, Vjera, what are you doing here at this hour of the night?
You ought to be at home and asleep." "Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news," cried poor Vjera in accents of distress.