waiting for his carriage, he ran against a friend, a certain
Prince G., an aide-de-camp.

"I watched you from my box," the latter remarked, through a
perfumed moustache. "Do you know whom you were speaking to?"

"No. Do you? A rather clever chap. Who is he?"

The prince whispered in his ear in French. "He is my brother . .
.. illegitimate. . . . His name is Nejdanov. I will tell you all
about it someday. My father did not in the least expect that
sort of thing, that was why he called him Nejdanov. [The
unexpected.] But he looked after him all right. Il lui a fait un
sort. We make him an allowance to live on. He is not stupid. Had
quite a good education, thanks to my father. But he has gone
quite off the track--I think he's a republican. We refuse to have
anything to do with him. Il est impossible. Goodbye, I see my
carriage is waiting."

The prince separated.

The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov's advertisement in the
paper and went to see him.

"My name is Sipiagin," he repeated, as he sat in front of
Nejdanov, surveying him with a dignified air. "I see by your
advertisement that you are looking for a post, and I should like
to know if you would be willing to come to me. I am married and
have a boy of eight, a very intelligent child, I may say. We
usually spend the summer and autumn in the country, in the