at woman seven thousand pounds for the papers."

"And probably charged his masters ten," added Steinmetz.

"And now you must go!"

The count rose and looked at his watch--a cheap American article, with a
loud tick. He held it out with his queer washed-out smile, and Steinmetz
smiled.

The two embraced again--and there was nothing funny in the action. It is
a singular thing that the sight of two men kissing is conducive either
to laughter or to tears. There is no medium emotion.

"My dear friend--my very dear friend," said the count, "God be with you
always. We may meet again--or we may not."

Steinmetz walked down the Nevski Prospekt on the left-hand pavement--no
one walks on the other--and the sleigh followed him. He turned into a
large, brilliantly lighted cafe, and loosened his coat.

"Give me beer," he said to the waiter; "a very large quantity of it."

The man smiled obsequiously as he set the foaming mug before him.

"Is it that his Excellency is cold?" he enquired.

"No, it isn't," answered Steinmetz. "Quite the contrary."

He drank the beer, and holding out his hand in the shadow of the table,
he noticed that it trembled only a little.

"That is better," he murmured. "But I must sit here a while longer. I
suppose I was upset. That is what they call it--upset! I have never been
like that before. Those lamps in the Prospekt! Gott! how they jumped up
and down!"

He pressed his hand over his eyes as if to shut out the brightness of
the room--the glaring gas and brilliant decorations--the shining bottles
and the many tables which would not keep still.

"Here," he said to the man, "give me more beer."

Presently he rose, and, getting rather clumsily into his sleigh, drove
back at the usual breakneck pace to the palace at the upper end of the
English Quay.

He sent an ambiguous message to Paul, saying that he had returned and
was dressing for dinner. This ceremony he went through slowly, as one
dazed by a great fall or a heavy fatigue. His servant, a quick, silent
man, noticed the strangeness of his manner, and like a wise servant only
betrayed the result of his observation by a readier service, a quicker
hand, a quieter motion.

As Steinmetz went to the drawing-room he glanced at his watch. It was
twenty minutes past seven. He still had ten minutes to spare before
dinner.

He opened the drawing-room door. Etta was sitting by the fire, alone.
She glanced back over her shoulder in a quick, hunted w