"Does that explain any facts--or help you to understand?" he asked.
"I think--perhaps," she said slowly, "that it does."
He examined her keenly for a moment.
"You suspected--you had heard that I was acting in the interests of Prussia? Did Ivanitch speak of me to you?"
"Oh, no," she said, turning and looking steadily into his eyes. "I was not the confidante of Kirylo Ivanitch in such matters." She broke off and turned away with a shrug.
"My doubts as to your genuineness are purely personal--and based, you must admit, upon good grounds. In the twentieth century abduction is hardly conventional. Women no longer kiss the hands that beat them, Gregory Khodkine."
He was silent for a long moment of meditation.
"It is very painful to me that you should dislike me so much. I ask nothing of you--expect nothing. For while I can help the cause of free Russia, I have sworn that no personal consideration shall stand in the way of duty. It is the irony of fate that it should be you, Princess Tatyana, who are thrown across my path, but that has made no difference to me. My life or happiness is nothing beside the other issue. That day at the British Embassy when we met and afterwards walked along the river, our minds struck fire. I knew then that you were different from other Russian women of your class. I am not sentimental--perhaps you think me cold; but I love you, Tatyana, and whether you believe it or not will serve and protect----"
"Please, Grisha Khodkine," she murmured. "My situation is delicate enough, without making it more difficult."
They were approaching the town and Monsieur Khodkine drove more carefully.