you've been doing with
yourself, and how you managed to turn into an Italian countess--"

"There is no need for you to know all that," she put in. "It can hardly
have any interest for you now. You see, you are no longer of our camp."

Paklin felt a pang and gave a forced laugh to hide his confusion.

"As you please," he said; "I know I'm regarded as out-of-date by the
present generation, and really I can hardly count myself.. . of those
ranks--" He did not finish the sentence. "Here comes Snapotchka with the
tea. Take a cup with us and stay a little longer. Perhaps I may tell you
something of interest to you."

Mashurina took a cup of tea and began sipping it with a lump of sugar in
her mouth.

Paklin laughed heartily.

"It's a good thing the police are not here to see an Italian countess--"

"Rocca di Santo Fiume," Mashurina put in solemnly, sipping the hot tea.

"Contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!" Paklin repeated after her; "and
drinking her tea in the typical Russian way! That's rather suspicious,
you know! The police would be on the alert in an instant."

"Some fellow in uniform bothered me when I was abroad," Mashurina
remarked. "He kept on asking so many questions until I couldn't stand it
any longer. 'Leave me alone, for heaven's sake!' I said to him at last."

"In Italian?

"Oh no, in Russian."

"And what did he do?"

"Went away, of course."

"Bravo!" Paklin exclaimed. "Well, countess, have another cup. There is
just one other thing I wanted to say to you. It seemed to me that you
expressed yourself rather contemptuously of Solomin. But I tell you that
people like him are the real men! It's difficult to understand them at
first, but, believe me, they're the real men. The future is in their
hands. They are not heroes, not even 'heroes of labour' as some crank
of an American, or Englishman, called them in a book he wrote for the
edification of us heathens, but they are robust, strong, dull men of the
people. They are exactly what we want just now. You have only to look at
Solomin. A head as clear as the day and a body as strong as an ox. Isn't
that a wonder in itself? Why, any man with us in Russia who has had any
brains, or feelings, or a conscience, has always been a physical wreck.
Solomin's heart aches just as ours does; he hates the same things that
we hate, but his nerves are of iron and his body is under his full
control. He's a splendid man, I tell you! Why, think of it! here is
a man with id