“Mademoiselle Zinca—certain circumstances have brought to my knowledge—the journey of a young Roumanian——”
“Kinko—my poor Kinko—they have found him?” she asks in a trembling voice.
“No—no——” say I, hesitating. “No one knows—except myself. I often visited him in the luggage-van at night; we were companions, friends. I took him a few provisions——”
“Oh! thank you, sir!” says the lady, taking me by the hands. “With a Frenchman Kinko was sure of not being betrayed, and even of receiving help! Thank you, thank you!”
I am more than ever afraid of the mission on which I have come.
“And no one suspected the presence of my dear Kinko?” she asks.
“No one.”
“What would you have had us do, sir? We are not rich. Kinko was without money over there at Tiflis, and I had not enough to send him his fare. But he is here at last. He will get work, for he is a good workman, and as soon as we can we will pay the company——”
“Yes; I know, I know.”
“And then we are going to get married, monsieur. He loves me so much, and I love him. We met one another in Paris. He was so kind to me. Then when he went back to Tiflis I asked him to come to me in that box. Is the poor fellow ill?”