talked in that way), if he has the soul of a warrior he ought to fall at
your feet in gratitude.'

"Tomassov felt himself plunged into even denser darkness than before. He
followed the French officer out of the room and out of the house; for he
had a notion that this was expected of him.

"It was getting dusk, the weather was very bad, and the street was quite
deserted. The Frenchman lingered in it strangely. And Tomassov lingered,
too, without impatience. He was never in a hurry to get away from the
house in which she lived. And besides, something wonderful had happened
to him. The hand he had reverently raised by the tips of its fingers had
been pressed against his lips. He had received a secret favour! He was
almost frightened. The world had reeled--and it had hardly steadied
itself yet. De Castel stopped short at the corner of the quiet street.

"'I don't care to be seen too much with you in the lighted
thoroughfares, M. Tomassov,' he said in a strangely grim tone.

"'Why?' asked the young man, too startled to be offended.

"'From prudence,' answered the other curtly. 'So we will have to part
here; but before we part I'll disclose to you something of which you
will see at once the importance.'

"This, please note, was an evening in late March of the year 1812. For
a long time already there had been talk of a growing coolness between
Russia and France. The word war was being whispered in drawing rooms
louder and louder, and at last was heard in official circles. Thereupon
the Parisian police discovered that our military envoy had corrupted