system still may be, and dangerous as our
returned and unreformed convicts are, times do
improve.

SOPHIE'S RIBBON.

"YOU know him? Be careful, mon cher, for
my sake if not for your own, how you acknowledge
such a dangerous acquaintance as that in
Nevskoi, in broad day."

And I felt my young Russian companion
wince and start as we walked, arm in arm, from
the Noble Club, of which, like the other
attachés of our embassy, I was of course free.
The person whose salute I had just acknowledged
was still in sight—a tall, well-dressed
man of about thirty, with a pale keen face,
brilliant dark eyes, and a long moustache.

"Know him? To be sure I do," was my
reply. "In the name of all that's mysterious,
Galitzin, what can be the harm of knowing the
chevalier—I think that is on his card—yes, the
Chevalier Gliska, nephew, or cousin, or
something, to the old Prince Leczinzka, at whose
palace I have seen you a dozen times, waltzing
as only the Guard can waltz."

But the young baron, who was generally gay
enough, would not consent to make a jest of
this occurrence, but muttered something about
my "English imprudence," and soon afterwards
left me. It was not easy to guess the cause
of the young Guardsman's evident nervousness,
or to comprehend what particular peril
there could be in knowing the chevalier, respecting
whom I now began to feel some natural
curiosity. Of his antecedents I knew very little,
but that little was in his favour. He had been
much abroad, was reputed to be clever and well
read, and the few words which we had
exchanged at any time had given me the impression
that he was agreeable. Yet Galitzin, who
had been very kind and familiar with me ever
since my arrival at the legation, seemed to shrink
from even mentioning the stigma that attached
to the chevalier.

It was from the chancellor at our embassy, a
quiet good-humoured old man, with a taste for
gossip, and a memory for St. Petersburg small-
talk dating from the peace of '15, that I heard
the truth.

"Gliska! Gliska!" said the old Scotchman,
taking a pinch of snuff to refresh his recollection;
"yes, to be sure! the young man, Demetrius
Gliska, is some relation to the old Princess
Leczinzka, and was in the imperial service.
Your friend's right. You had best fight shy of
him, Mr. Acton."

"But why? Does he cheat at cards? Or
has he a turn for what the doctors call homicidal
monomania?"

"Nothing of the sort," answered the
chancellor; "he's just a 'suspect,' and that's the
whole of it; he's one of the black sheep of the
political flock, that all the rest, and chiefly such
gay young birkies as your friend Galilzin, are
fearfu' to rub shoulders with. To be sure, he's
a Pole, and can't be blamed for what he does in
behalf of his down-trodden country; but, man,
he's sairly frowned upon by the powers that
be."

On further pressing, Mr. Campbell informed
me that the chevalier, who had once held a
commission in the army, had been arrested on
suspicion of a share in some conspiracy. He was
found not guilty; but, being unable to clear
himself wholly in the eyes of government, had been
compelled to serve as a private for three years
in the Caucasus; had quitted Russia at the end
of this term; and, after a long exile, had lately
been permitted to return, at the intercession of
his powerful relatives. He was still under
considerable suspicion, and it was more than
rumoured that his presence in the capital
was due to his desire to render aid in some
widely-spread plot for the enfranchisement of
Poland and its imperfectly Russianised
dependencies.

"If they catch him tripping, woe be to the
lad," said old Campbell, oracularly; "he'll
be lucky if he gets off with Eastern Siberia
and airmine trapping for the rest of his days;
more likely the mines or the knout, if the
czar's ministers happen to be specially ill
humoured, or specially frightened, when the bubble
bursts."

The old chancellor had seen so many abortive
plots, painfully planned, warily kept, collapse in
the miserable ruin of the plotters, that he had got
to regard the Russian government as conspiracy
proof. This was peculiarly true as regarded
the Polish aristocracy, many of whose chief
families were understood to reside at St. Petersburg
rather as hostages than as courtiers,
though never venturing to absent themselves
from the imperial presence-chamber on
ceremonious occasions. Among these were the
Leczinzkas; the old prince and princess; their
grandson, heir to the extensive estates in Lithuania
and the government of Warsaw; and their
granddaughter, Sophie Leczinzka. The prince
himself was a gentle genial old man, with a
taste for numismatics. I do not believe that
his patriotism ever went beyond a mild sentiment
in favour of a free and prosperous Poland.
The princess, who had been a famous beauty in
her day, was kind and hospitable, but not by
any means capable of dabbling in political
intrigues; while the grandson was as yet so young,
and so heedfully kept under the eye of a tutor
recommended by the czar himself, that he could
scarcely have imbibed any "revolutionary"
ideas. Still, whoever was lord of the Leczinzka
lands, and of the influence attached to the great
name of that illustrious race, was esteemed
worth watching by the authorities.

The family had not always been so passive.
The prince's eldest son, a high-spirited young
man, had shared in the last disastrous revolt of
the Poles, and died, in captivity, of wounds
received in the defeat of Ostrolenka. His young
widow had soon followed him to the grave,
leaving Alexis and Sophie, the one an infant,
the other a girl eight years of age, to the care