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"Yes," said Deulin, taking Cartoner's arm, and leading him to the right instead of the left; for Cartoner was going towards the Cracow Faubourg, which was the simplest but not the shortest way to the Jasna. "Yes let us go by the quiet streets, eh?
Which was a long explanation, without much information in it. "Oh, I thought perhaps you were in the diplomatic service," said Miss Cahere, carelessly. For an instant Cartoner's eyes lost all their vagueness. Either Miss Cahere had hit the mark with her second shot, or else he was making a mental note of the fact that Mr.
The same consisting of a guitar and a bright-coloured violin, the latter in the hands of a wandering scoundrel, who must have had good in him somewhere it peeped out in the lower notes. "Has his Excellency had coffee?" inquired the man behind Cartoner's chair. "Yes." "Does any sugar remain? I have not eaten since morning."
"The letter begins," said Deulin, unconsciously falling into a professional preliminary "'I have received Cartoner's letter supplementing the account given by the man who was with Martin at the last. I remember Captain Cable quite well. When we met him at the Signal House, at Northfleet, I little thought that he would be called upon to render the last earthly service to my son.
Cartoner sat at one of the outside tables, where the hydrangeas, as large as a black currant bush, are ranged in square green boxes against the city wall. He was thoughtfully sipping his coffee when a man crawled between his legs and hid himself like a sick dog between Cartoner's chair and the hydrangea trees.
Cartoner's summons at the door on the second floor was answered by a clumsy Russian maid-servant, who smiled a broad, good-natured recognition when she saw him, and, turning without a word, led the way along a narrow passage. The smell of tobacco smoke and a certain bareness of wall and floor suggested a bachelor's home. The maid opened the door of a room and stood aside for Cartoner to pass in.
The eager eyes came round to Cartoner's face, of which the gravity seemed suddenly reflected in them. "He is the best linguist in Europe," said Deulin, in a gay whisper; "even Polish; he speaks with the tongue of men and of angels." And he himself spoke in Polish.
In a moment the boat came softly nestling against the steamer as a kitten may nestle against its mother. The man, who seemed to be the sole occupant, stood up, resting his hand on the rail of the Minnie. His head came up over the rail, and he peered into Cartoner's face. "You!" he exclaimed.
Never had Cartoner's silent habit stood him in such good stead as during the following moments, while a skilled workman replaced the lost shoe. Never had he observed so skilled a silence, or left unsaid such dangerous words. For Kosmaroff watched him as a cat may watch a bird.
There is a letter up-stairs," said the door-keeper to Cartoner, as he passed in. Cartoner's servant was out, and the lamps were turned low when he entered his sitting-room. He knew that the letter must be the reply to his application for a recall. He turned up the lamp, and, taking the letter from the table where it lay in a prominent position, sat down in a deep chair to read it at leisure.
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