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“Mademoiselle is far more than pretty; she is beautiful.”

The old lady smiled at my enthusiasm, and took a couple of puffs at her cigarette while she looked at me.

“Ah, they all say that, monsieur.”

“All, madame?”

“And good, too,” she continued, pretending not to hear my question. “Good, too. A big kind heart—and such a brain. Ah, she would be a great woman if she had her rights. She would make a noble wife, monsieur, a noble wife; but—she will never marry—that is until she has them.”

“You are very fond of her?”

“Everybody is. She is more than a daughter to me. Without her I should be—do you know the fate of destitute old women in Russia? God help them, for the Government don’t. Helga does God’s part for me.”

“And you think she will never marry, madame?”

She glanced up with another of her slow, shrewd smiles.

“Get her her rights, and then——” She paused. “She is affianced, but I know what I think.” She shook her head gravely. “But no one can do it. So they come and go—and always go at last, not to return.”