It had been the custom of the two generals, since they had joined the
music-hall profession, to go, after their turn, to the Scotch Stores,
where they stood talking and blocking the gangway, as etiquette demands
that a successful artiste shall.

The Prince had little doubt but that he would find Vodkakoff there
to-night.

He was right. The Russian general was there, chatting affably across
the counter about the weather.

He nodded at the Prince with a well-assumed carelessness.

"Go well to-night?" he inquired casually.

Prince Otto clenched his fists; but he had had a rigorously diplomatic
up-bringing, and knew how to keep a hold on himself. When he spoke it
was in the familiar language of diplomacy.

"The rain has stopped," he said, "but the pavements are still wet
underfoot. Has your grace taken the precaution to come out in a good
stout pair of boots?"

The shaft plainly went home, but the Grand Duke's manner, as he
replied, was unruffled.

"Rain," he said, sipping his vermouth, "is always wet; but sometimes it
is cold as well."

"But it never falls upwards," said the Prince, pointedly.