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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Let me go in," she urged. "I may be able to help." Steinmetz shook his head. "Better not!" he said. "Besides, your life is too precious to these poor people to run unnecessary risks." She gave a strange, bitter laugh. "And what about you?" she said. "And Paul?" "You never hear of Paul going into any of the cottages," snapped Steinmetz sharply. "For me it is different.
The Psalmist knew much of which he did not write, and the young men of the modern school of poesy and fiction know no more, but they lack the good taste of the singer of old. That is all. Karl Steinmetz was a man who formed his opinion on the best basis namely, experience, and that had taught him that a bold reticence does less harm to one's neighbor than a weak volubility.
Karl Steinmetz was frowning over an olive. "I really do not know," said Etta, who had glanced across the table. "I assure you, madame, it is so. I am always hearing good of you, prince." "From whom?" asked Paul. Vassili shrugged his peculiarly square shoulders. "Ah! From all and sundry."
The remainder of it is pasture, where miserable cattle and a few horses, many sheep and countless pigs, seek their food pessimistically from God. Steinmetz looked round over this cheerless prospect with a twinkle of amused resignation in his blue eyes, as if this creation were a little practical joke, which he, Karl Steinmetz, appreciated at its proper worth.
"It is easy to lose yourself," said Paul; "besides" and the two friends watched the Frenchman's face closely "besides, the country is disturbed at present." De Chauxville was helping himself daintily to pâté de foie gras. "Ah, indeed! Is that so?" he answered. "But they would not hurt me a stranger in the land." "And an orphan, too, I have no doubt," added Steinmetz, with a laugh.
He had little education and highly developed muscles that is to say, he was no scholar but essentially a gentleman a good enough education in its way, and long may Britons seek it! This young man's name was Paul Howard Alexis, and Fortune had made him a Russian prince. If, however, anyone, even Steinmetz, called him prince, he blushed and became confused.
"But my knowledge of the betrayal of the Charity League is sufficient for my purpose." "Yes," admitted Steinmetz grimly, "you have information there with possibilities of mischief in it. But I shall discount most of it by telling Prince Pavlo to-night all that I know, and I know more than you do. Also, I intend to seal your lips before you leave this room."
You have never heard that of Paul." "No," she answered slowly; "and it is quite right. His life it is different for him. How how is Paul?" "He is well, thank you." Steinmetz glanced down at her. She was looking across the plains beyond the boundless pine forests that lay between Thors and the Volga. "Quite well," he went on, kindly enough.
He had evidently clutched at the earth and at every tuft of grass, after his fall from the saddle. "Look here, at these hands," said Paul suddenly. "This is an Englishman. You never see fingers this shape in Russia." Steinmetz stooped down. He held out his own square-tipped fingers in comparison. Paul rubbed the dead hand with his sleeve as if it were a piece of statuary.
"Nor," put in Steinmetz, with his blandest smile, "do we allow fiction to affect our facts." Vassili glanced at Steinmetz sideways. "Here is dinner," he said. "Mme. la Princesse, may I have the honor?" The table was gorgeously decorated; the wine was perfect; the dishes Parisian. Every thing was brilliant, and Etta's spirits rose. Such little things affect the spirits of such little-minded women.
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