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Aren't you English, then?" "No, I'm American. My name's Fred Waring. You're a Russian, aren't you?" "Yes. My name's Boris Suvaroff. This is a summer place my father owns here. He's away. I'm glad of that, because the Germans would have taken him prisoner if he'd been here." For just a moment neither seemed to catch the other's name. Then the Russian boy spoke. "Fred Waring an American?" he said.
Suvaroff poured out a drink and swallowed it greedily. He drank another and another. The room began to fill. The lights were dim, and the arrival and departure of patrons threw an endless procession of grotesque silhouettes upon the walls. Suvaroff was fascinated by these dancing shadows. They seemed familiar and friendly. He sat sipping his brandy, now, with a quieter, more leisurely air.
One morning a large packet was brought to him by an Imperial courier. To his astonishment, and the amusement of his staff, it was but models of tails and curls. Suvaroff gave vent to a sneer, a much more fatal thing than a sarcasm, in some Russian verses, amounting to "Hair-powder is not gunpowder; Curls are not cannon; Tails are not bayonets."
"Prince Alexander Suvaroff has been a good friend and neighbor, and, though he is an enemy, we desire to respect his property as long as possible. But neither you nor any who are left in the house with you must go out this for your own safety except to get food and then go yourself." Fred heard a general movement then, and guessed that they were going out.
Hits and losses in fact were considerable in both the main and the cruiser divisions of the Japanese, their total casualties numbering 465. Late in the afternoon the Russian destroyer Buiny came up to the wreck of the Suvaroff, and lurched alongside long enough for Rojdestvensky, wounded and almost unconscious, to be practically thrown on board. He was captured with the destroyer next day.
But the trouble is that if a big man in either Germany or Russia has a grudge against someone, he can use that whole secret police machinery against him. That's what Mikail Suvaroff was doing to you." "But the Germans?" "He would have seen to it, I suppose, that the secret police on our side told the Germans here some cock and bull story enough to induce them to make it unpleasant for you.
Half a dozen small boys, who, it was evident, had remained hidden during the ceremony of presentation, now mysteriously appeared and were accompanying the departing donor, half trotting to keep up with him. From Harper's Magazine As Suvaroff neared his lodgings, he began to wonder whether the Italian who had the room next him would continue to grind out tunes all night upon his accordion.
He then went on to say that battles are won by force of circumstances, by chance, by luck; and he quoted Suvaroff to this effect. He liked Lanfrey's "History of Napoleon" and Taine's book on the Empire, evidently because both are denunciatory of men and things he dislikes, but said that he did not believe in Thiers.
"I shall sleep to-night," muttered Suvaroff, as he climbed up to his room upon the third story of the Hôtel des Alpes Maritimes. He undressed deliberately. All his former frenzy was gone. Shortly after he had crawled into bed he heard a step on the landing.
For just an instant it was plain that Mikail Suvaroff did not recognize the nephew he hated. But then he knew him, and a flash of cold, malignant hatred lit up his eyes, while his lips curved in a curious, sneering smile. "So it is you?" he said. "I thought I had not seen the last of you on the platform at Virballen! Lieutenant, you may leave us."
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