There was a pause. The Duke's eyes still rested on her face. The admiration in them was mingled with compassion.
"You're very unhappy here, aren't you?" he said gently.
"Me? Why?" said Sonia quickly.
"Your smile is so sad, and your eyes so timid," said the Duke slowly. "You're just like a little child one longs to protect. Are you quite alone in the world?"
His eyes and tones were full of pity; and a faint flush mantled Sonia's cheeks.
"Yes, I'm alone," she said.
"But have you no relations—no friends?" said the Duke.
"No," said Sonia.
"I don't mean here in France, but in your own country. . . . Surely you have some in Russia?"
"No, not a soul. You see, my father was a Revolutionist. He died in Siberia when I was a baby. And my mother, she died too—in Paris. She had fled from Russia. I was two years old when she died."
"It must be hard to be alone like that," said the Duke.
"No," said Sonia, with a faint smile, "I don't mind having no relations. I grew used
