me to know his name, for he did not
introduce himself when he arrived and he does not come to our Casino.
But I know him for all that: it is the young Count von Boden, of the
Uhlans of the Guard: his father, the General, is one of the Emperor's
aides-de-camp: he was, for a time, tutor to the Crown Prince."

A motor-car stood at the door, in it a young man in a grey-blue military
great-coat and a flat cap with a pink band round it. He sprang out as we
appeared. His manner was most _empresse_. He completely ignored my
companion.

"I am extremely glad to see you, Herr Doktor," he said. "You are
most anxiously expected. I must present my apologies for not being
at the station to welcome you, but, apparently, there was some
misunderstanding. The arrangements at the station for your reception
seem to have broken down completely ..." and he stared through his
monocle at the old Major, who flushed with vexation.

"If you will step into my car," the young man added, "I will drive you
to the station. We need not detain this gentleman any longer."

I felt sorry for the old Major, who had remained silent under the
withering insolence of this young lieutenant, so I shook hands with him
cordially and thanked him for his hospitality. He was a jovial old
fellow after all.

The young Count drove himself and chatted amiably as we whirled through
the streets. "I must introduce myself," he said: "Lieutenant Count von
Boden of the 2nd Uhlans of the Guard. I did not wish to say anything
before that old chatterbox. I trust you have had a pleasant journey. Von
Steinhardt, of our Legation at the Hague, was instructed to make all
arrangements for your comfort on this side. But I was forgetting, you
and he must be old acquaintances, Herr Doktor!"

I said something appropriate about von Steinhardt's invariable kindness.
Inwardly, I noted the explanation of the visiting card in the portfolio
in my pocket.

At the station we found two orderlies, one with my things, the other
with von Boden's luggage and fur _pelisse_. The platforms were now
deserted save for sentries: all life at this dreary frontier station
seemed to die with the passing of the mail train.

I could not help noticing, after we had left the car and were strolling
up and down the platform waiting for the special, that my companion kept
casting furtive glances at my feet. I looked down at my boots: they
wanted brushing, certainly, but otherwise I could see nothing wrong with