The lady was too happy to consider how the miracle had been wrought, though she suspected dirty work at the bottom of it.  She never discovered how simple had been the method of Mr. Keith who had merely given His Worship to understand that he had done enough bribing for one season and that, unless Krasnojabkin were promptly released, there would be no bribing whatever next year.  The judge, with his usual legal acumen, perceived the cogency of his friend’s argument.  He met Mr. Keith’s wishes more than half-way.  On an impulse of downright good-nature—­there was no other interpretation to be put on it—­he released all the Russians, including the Messiah.  They were excarcerated then and there on a decree of “provisional liberty,” which looked well in the records of the Court and, being interpreted, signified immunity from further judicial molestation.  The incident was closed.

People talked about it none the less.  They discussed Don Giustino, his past career and present prosperity.  As for Mr. Muhlen—­he was already almost forgotten.  So was the Commissioner’s lady.  Madame Steynlin alone brought herself to say a few kind words about both of them.  She was ready to say kind things about anyone.  The magic of love!  Her heart, under the influence of Peter, had opened so wide as to embrace not only the Russian colony, but even the nine thousand families of Chinese cultivators who, according to a paragraph in the morning’s newspaper, had perished in a sudden inundation of the Hoang-Ho.

The poor people! she said.  She did not see why one should not sympathize with the griefs of a Chinaman.  Humble honest folks, without a doubt—­swept off the face of the earth, through no fault of their own, by a cataclysm!  There was quite a discussion about it on her terrace that afternoon.

Mr. Heard, feeling also very charitable, found himself taking her part against someone who said it was impossible to sympathize with the troubles of a yellow man—­they were too different, too remote from ourselves.  He thought that much individual hardship had been suffered, undeserved, unchronicled; homes destroyed, children drowned before the eyes of their parents.  And nobody seemed to care.

CHAPTER XXXIX

Later on, he turned his back upon the crowded walks and found himself on a remote terrace overlooking the sea.  It was quiet here, in view of the sunset—­his last sunset on Nepenthe.

Leaning over the parapet he enjoyed, once more, the strangely intimate companionship of the sea.  He glanced down into the water whose uneven floor was diapered with long weedy patches, fragments of fallen rock, and brighter patches of sand; he inhaled the pungent odour of sea-wrack and listened to the breathings of the waves.  They lapped softly against the rounded boulders which strewed the shore like a flock of nodding Behemoths.  He remembered his visits at daybreak to the beach—­those unspoken