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Updated: June 13, 2025
Steinmetz came into the room with an exaggerated bow and a twinkle in his melancholy eyes. "Catrina has gone out on a day like this! Mon Dieu! How gray, how melancholy!" "Without, yes! But here, how different!" replied Steinmetz in French. The countess cackled and pointed to a chair. "Ah! you always flatter. What news have you, bad character?"
"Do you want to enter the boot trade also?" asked Steinmetz cheerfully, in a lowered voice. "Heaven forbid!" cried the countess. "Then let us talk of safer things." The short twilight was already brooding over the land. The room, lighted only by small square windows, grew darker and darker until Catrina rang for lamps. "I hate a dark room," she said shortly to Maggie.
Karl Steinmetz had one great factor of success in this world an infinite capacity for holding his cards. "One more item," said the count, in his businesslike, calm way. "Vassili paid that woman seven thousand pounds for the papers." "And probably charged his masters ten," added Steinmetz. "And now you must go!" The count rose and looked at his watch a cheap American article, with a loud tick.
He was a lieutenant in a Cossack regiment, and as he bowed to Steinmetz, whom Paul introduced, he swung off his high astrakhan cap with a flourish, showing a fair boyish face. "Yes," he continued to Paul in English; "the general sent me over with a sotnia of men, and pretty hungry you will find them. We have covered the whole distance since daybreak.
Sydney Bamborough. Since his hurried departure from Tver a winter had come and gone, leaving its mark as winters do. It left a very distinct mark on Russia. It was a famine winter. From the snow-ridden plains that lie to the north of Moscow, Karl Steinmetz had written piteous descriptions of an existence which seemed hardly worth the living.
The man to whom the President of the Association introduced me was sturdy, well-knit, a little under average height. He had a broad but rather low forehead that reminded me somewhat of the late electrical wizard Steinmetz. Under level black brows shone eyes of clear hazel, kindly, shrewd, a little wistful, lightly humorous; the eyes both of a doer and a dreamer.
Other militarists are more complex and more moral in their considerations. The "Philosophie des Krieges," by S. R. Steinmetz is a good example. War, according to this author, is an ordeal instituted by God, who weighs the nations in its balance. It is the essential form of the State, and the only function in which peoples can employ all their powers at once and convergently.
About the time the charge was ordered, the phase of the battle was such that the King concluded to move his headquarters into the village of Gravelotte; and just after getting there, we first learned fully of the disastrous result of the charge which had been entered upon with such spirit; and so much indignation was expressed against Steinmetz, who, it was claimed, had made an unnecessary sacrifice of his cavalry, that I thought he would be relieved on the spot; though this was not done.
Steinmetz wrote on a card, "In memory of '56, let me in," and sent in the missive. A few minutes later a stout, smiling lady came toward him with outstretched hand. "What mischief are you about?" she enquired, "you stormy petrel! This is no place for your deep-laid machinations. We are here to enjoy ourselves and found a hospital. Come in, however. I am delighted to see you.
"It would appear," murmured the stout philosopher, "that we are about to work together for the first time. But if there is one thing that I dislike more than the enmity of Claude de Chauxville it is his friendship." Karl Steinmetz lifted his pen from the paper before him and scratched his forehead with his forefinger. "Now, I wonder," he said aloud, "how many bushels there are in a ton.
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