Vassili raised his shoulders and made a little gesture with his
cigarette, as much as to say, "Why ask?"

De Chauxville looked at his companion keenly. He was wondering whether
this man knew that he--Claude de Chauxville--loved Etta Howard Alexis,
and consequently hated her husband. He was wondering how much or how
little this impenetrable individual knew and suspected.

"I have always said," observed Vassili suddenly, "that for unmitigated
impertinence give me a diplomatist."

"Ah! And what would you desire that I should, for the same commodity,
give you now?"

"A woman."

There was a short silence in the room while these two birds of a feather
reflected.

Suddenly Vassili tapped himself on the chest with his forefinger.

"It was I," he said, "who crushed that very dangerous movement--the
Charity League."

"I know it."

"A movement, my dear baron, to educate the moujik, if you please. To
feed him and clothe him, and teach him--to be discontented with his lot.
To raise him up and make a man of him. Pah! He is a beast. Let him be
treated as such. Let him work. If he will not work, let him starve and
die."

"The man who cannot contribute toward the support of those above him in
life is superfluous," said De Chauxville glibly.

"Precisely. Now, my dear baron, listen to me!" The genial Vassili leaned
forward and tapped with one finger on the knee of De Chauxville, as if
knocking at the door of his attention.

"I am all ears, mon bon monsieur," replied the Frenchman, rather coldly.
He had just been reflecting that, after all, he did not want any favor
from Vassili for the moment, and the manner of the latter was verging on
the familiar.

"The woman--who--sold--me--the Charity League papers dined at my house
in Paris--a fortnight ago," said Vassili, with a staccato tap on his
companion's knee by way of emphasis to each word.

"Then, my friend, I cannot--congratulate--you--on the society--in--which
you move," replied De Chauxville, mimicking his manner.

"Bah! She was a princess!"

"A princess?"

"Yes, of your acquaintance, M. le Baron! And she came to my house with
her--eh--husband--the Prince Paul Howard Alexis."

This was news indeed. De Chauxville leaned back and passed his slim
white hand across his brow with a slow pressure, as if wiping some
writing from a slate--as if his forehead bore the writing of his
thoughts and he was wiping it away. And the thoughts he thus
concealed--who can count them?