meeting the other half. It has swinging glass doors to its every
apartment, the lower portion of the glass being opaque, while the upper
moiety affords a peep-hole. Thus, if you are sitting in one of the deep,
comfortable chairs to be found in all these small rooms, you will be
aware from time to time of eyes and a bald head above the ground glass.
If you are nobody, eyes and bald head will prove to be the property of a
gentleman who does not know you, or knows you and pretends that he does
not. If you are somebody, your solitude will depend upon your
reputation.

There are quite a number of bald heads in the Talleyrand Club--bald
heads surmounting youthful, innocent faces. The innocence of these
gentlemen is quite remarkable. Like a certain celestial, they are
"childlike and bland"; they ask guileless questions; they make blameless
mistakes in respect to facts, and require correction, which they receive
meekly. They know absolutely nothing, and their thirst for information
is as insatiable as it is unobtrusive.

The atmosphere is vivacious with the light sound of many foreign
tongues; it bristles with the ephemeral importance of cheap titles. One
never knows whether one's neighbor is an ornament to the Almanac de
Gotha, or a disgrace to a degenerate colony of refugees.

Some are plain Messieurs, Señores, or Herren. Bluff foreigners with
upright hair and melancholy eyes, who put up philosophically with a
cheaper brand of cigar than their souls love. Among the latter may be
classed Karl Steinmetz--the bluffest of the bluff--innocent even of his
own innocence.

Karl Steinmetz in due course reached England, and in natural sequence