“He is a tchinovnik—­a government spy.  He lives on the taxes.  But it will not be for long.  There is a time coming—­”

“Ah!  What sort of a time?  Now, you must take this to the starosta.  He will give you a bottle.  It is not to drink.  It is to wash your throat with.  Remember that, and do not give it to your wife by way of a tonic as you did last time.  So there are changes coming, are there?”

“There is a change coming for the prince—­for all the princes,” replied the man in the usual taproom jargon.  “For the Emperor too.  The poor man has had enough of it.  God made the world for the poor man as well as for the rich.  Riches should be equally divided.  They are going to be.  The country is going to be governed by a Mir.  There will be no taxes.  The Mir makes no taxes.  It is the tchinovniks who make the taxes and live on them.”

“Ah, you are very eloquent, little father.  If you talk like this in the kabak no wonder you have a bad throat.  There, I can do no more for you.  You must wash more and drink less.  You might try a little work perhaps; it stimulates the appetite.  And with a throat like that I should not talk so much if I were you.  Next!”

The next comer was afflicted with a wound that would not heal—­a common trouble in cold countries.

While attending to this sickening sore Paul continued his conversation with the last patient.

“You must tell me,” he said, “when these changes are about to come.  I should like to be there to see.  It will be interesting.”

The man laughed mysteriously.

“So the government is to be by a Mir, is it?” went on Paul.

“Yes; the poor man is to have a say in it.”

“That will be interesting.  But at the Mir every one talks at once and no one listens; is it not so?”

The man made no reply.

“Is the change coming soon?” asked Paul coolly.

But there was no reply.  Some one had seized the loquacious orator of the kabak, and he was at that moment being quietly hustled out of the room.

After this there was a sullen silence, which Paul could not charm away, charm he never so wisely.

When his patients had at last ebbed away he lighted a cigarette and walked thoughtfully back to the castle.  There was danger in the air, and this was one of those men upon whom danger acts as a pleasant stimulant.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE NET IS DRAWN

During the days following Paul’s visit to the village the ladies did not see much male society.  Paul and Steinmetz usually left the castle immediately after breakfast and did not return till nightfall.

“Is there any thing wrong?” Maggie asked Steinmetz on the evening of the second day.

Steinmetz had just come into the vast drawing-room dressed for dinner—­stout, placid, and very clean-looking.  They were alone in the room.