"And who is Bolshy?" asked the lady with an air of interest.
"His real name is Peter Glatzof, and he is a poor man who is very lonely, but he does not understand French."
A soft remark came from the hammock. "My amiable son, your Bolshy did not have a French governess when he was a child. Madame de Valkonski is a princess."
I held my breath, and my young master getting up made the newcomer a low bow. "A real live princess—how stunning! I've always wanted to see one."
She laughed a little queer short laugh. "Then go to Switzerland, young friend. Titles are as common as dust on the roads now that we are driven out of our homes—but tell me more about your Bolshy and tell me in French."
My master was pretty well puzzled, but he managed to give a stammering account of the Russian.
"Ah! this country of Canada is good to foreigners," said the strange lady in a slow way so that the lad might understand her. "It is better than any other country in the world. I have been looking into her laws—and has Madame, your Mother, told you about our experiment in your alluring mountains called Adirondacks?"
"I began," said Mrs. Duff, "but did not finish. Will you continue, Marie, if you please?"
The princess, whose words fell from her lips like pearls, said very evenly and distinctly, "You, though a boy only, know what has been going on in my beloved Russia."
Young Dallas nodded his head.