"Perfectly," answered Pembroke coolly. "Come or stay—do as you like. It is your only chance of getting away from the United States quietly—and this chance is given you not for yourself but for your wife."
Pembroke had kept his hat on his head purposely all this time. Volkonsky had removed his, but seeing Pembroke remain covered, put it back also. The two men gazed at each other for a moment, and then each went his way. But Pembroke knew in that moment that Volkonsky would come.
Once down in the carriage, Volkonsky directed the coachman to drive toward the country. It was a charming morning in early spring. Madame Volkonsky had expected to enjoy the drive, but when she saw Volkonsky's face she changed her anticipations.
"What did he say?" she asked, almost before the footman had mounted.
Volkonsky reflected for a moment, and then answered grimly:
"He has offered me a chance to get away quietly."
Madame Volkonsky said no more. Volkonsky began gnawing his mustache—a trick that Ahlberg had before. He did not speak until they were out in the country lanes. The fresh spring air brought no bloom to Madame Volkonsky's pallid face.
"But for the frightful insolence of the fellow," began Volkonsky after a while, "it might not be so bad. He is willing to negotiate. He has not
