that he was poor; for a poor man has few adherents. In the olden times,
when the Bukatys had been rich, there were many professing readiness to
follow him to the death--which is the way of the world. "You have but to
hold up your hand," cries the faithful follower. But wise men know
that the hand must have something in it. The prince had been young and
impressionable when Poland was torn to pieces, when that which for eight
centuries had been one of the important kingdoms of the world was wiped
off the face of Europe, like writing off a slate. He was not a ruffian,
as Deulin had described him; but he was a man who had been ruffled, and
nothing could ever smooth him.

He was too frank by nature to play a hopeless game with the cunning and
the savor of spite which hopeless games require. If he liked a man, he
said so; if he disliked one, he was equally frank about it. He liked
Cartoner on the briefest of brief introductions, and said so.

"It is difficult to find a man in London who speaks anything but
English, and of anything but English topics. You are the narrowest
people in the world--you Londoners. But you are no Londoner; I beg your
pardon. Well, then, come and see me to-morrow. We are in a hotel in
Kensington--will you come? That is the address."

And he held out a card with a small gold crown emblazoned in the corner,
after the mode of eastern Europe. Cartoner reflected for a moment, which
was odd in a man whose decisions were usually arrived at with lightning
speed. For he had a slow tongue and a quick brain. There are few better
equipments with which to face the world.

"Yes," he said at length; "it will give me much pleasure."