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"With the unrolling, the leather tablet of the shawl-strap, bearing my name, fell in her lap. "'Your name is Bosk, she said, with a quick start, 'and you an American? "'Yes; why not? "'My maiden name is Boski, she replied, looking at me in astonishment, 'and I am a Pole. "Here were two mysteries solved. She was married, and neither Italian nor Slav.
He was buried two days ago. "A shade passed over his face, 'Poor De Rescka! I suspected as much. "Then facing me again, his face losing its suspicious expression: "'Monsieur, I am the brother of the countess, Colonel Boski of the army. A week ago my letters were intercepted, and I left Cracow in the night. Since then I have been hunted like an animal. This uniform is my third disguise.
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