He laid his newspaper down on his stout knees and looked at De
Chauxville over his gold eye-glasses. He did not attempt to conceal the
fact that he was wondering what this man wanted with him. The baron
seemed to be wondering what object Steinmetz had in view in getting
stout. He suspected some motive in the obesity.

"Ah!" he said deprecatingly. "That is nothing. Time leaves its mark upon
all of us. It was not yesterday that we were in Petersburg together."

"No," answered Steinmetz. "It was before the German Empire--many years
ago."

De Chauxville counted back with his slim fingers on the
table--delightfully innocent.

"Yes," he said, "the years seem to fly in coveys. Do you ever see any of
our friends of that time--you who are in Russia?"

"Who were our friends of that time?" parried Steinmetz, polishing his
glasses with a silk handkerchief. "My memory is a broken reed--you
remember?"

For a moment Claude de Chauxville met the full, quiet, gray eyes.

"Yes," he said significantly, "I remember. Well--for instance, Prince
Dawoff?"

"Dead. I never see him--thank Heaven!"

"The princess?"