o middle-aged, or too stout, for love. "But
she is au mieux with the prince."

"Which prince?"

"Pavlo."

The Frenchman snapped out the word, watching the other's benevolent
countenance. Steinmetz continued to smoke placidly and contentedly.

"My master," he said at length. "I suppose that some day he will marry."

De Chauxville shrugged his shoulders. He touched the button of the
electric bell, and when the servant appeared, ordered coffee. He
selected a cigarette from a silver case with considerable care, and
having lighted it smoked for some moments in silence. The servant
brought the coffee, which he drank thoughtfully. Steinmetz was leaning
back in his deep chair, with his legs crossed. He was gazing into the
fire, which burnt brightly, although it was nearly May. The habits of
the Talleyrand Club are almost continental. The rooms are always too
warm. The silence was that of two men knowing each other well.

"And why not Mrs. Sydney Bamborough?" asked Steinmetz suddenly.

"Why not, indeed?" replied De Chauxville. "It is no affair of mine. A
wise man reduces his affairs to a minimum, and his interest in the
affairs of his neighbor to less. But I thought it would interest you."

"Thanks."

The tone of the big man in the arm-chair was not dry. Karl Steinmetz
knew better than to indulge in that pastime. Dryness is apt to parch the
fount of expansiveness.

De Chauxville's attention was apparently caught by an illustration in a
weekly paper lying open on the table near to him. Your shifty man likes
something to look at. He did not speak for some moments. Then he threw
the paper aside.

"Who was Sydney Bamborough, at any rate?" he asked, with a careless
assumption of a slanginess which is affected by society in its decadent
periods.

"So far as I remember," answered Steinmetz, "he was something in the
Diplomatic Service."

"Yes, but what?"

"My dear friend, you had better ask his widow when next you sit beside
her at dinner."

"How do you know that I sat beside her at dinner?"

"I did not know it," replied Steinmetz, with a quiet smile which left De
Chauxville in doubt as to whether he was very stupid or exceedingly
clever.

"She seems to be very well off," said the Frenchman.

"I am glad, as she is going to marry my master."

De Chauxville laughed almost awkwardly, and for a fraction of a second
he changed countenance under Steinmetz's quiet eyes.

"One can never know whom a woman intends to ma