impress this hearer.  The difference between a Frenchman and a Russian is that the former is amenable to every outward influence—­the outer thing penetrates.  The Russian, on the contrary, is a man who works his thoughts, as it were, from internal generation to external action.  The action, moreover, is demonstrative, which makes the Russian different from other northern nations of an older civilization and a completer self-control.

“Then,” said Vassili, “if I understand M. le Baron aright, it is a question of private and personal affairs that suggests this journey to—­Russia?”

“Precisely.”

“In no sense a mission?” suggested the other, sipping his liqueur thoughtfully.

“In no sense a mission.  I give you a proof.  I have been granted six months’ leave of absence, as you probably know.”

“Precisely so, mo’ cher Baron.”  Vassili had a habit of applying to every one the endearing epithet, which lost a consonant somewhere in his mustache.  “When a military officer is granted a six months’ leave, it is exactly then that we watch him.”

De Chauxville shrugged his shoulders in deprecation, possibly with contempt for any system of watching.

“May one call it an affaire de coeur?” asked Vassili, with his grim smile.

“Certainly.  Are not all private affairs such, one way or the other?”

“And you want a passport?”

“Yes—­a special one.”

“I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Vassili emptied his glass, drew in his feet, and glanced at the clock.

“But that is not all I want,” said De Chauxville.

“So I perceive.”

“I want you to tell me what you know of Prince Pavlo Alexis.”

“Of Tver?”

“Of Tver.  What you know from your point of view, you understand, my dear Vassili.  Nothing political, nothing incriminating, nothing official.  I only want a few social details.”

Again the odd smile fell over the dignified face.

“In case,” said Vassili, rather slowly, “I should only impart to you stale news and valueless details with which you are already acquainted, I must ask you to tell me first what you know—­from your point of view.”

“Certainly,” answered De Chauxville, with engaging frankness.  “The man I know slightly is the sort of thing that Eton and Oxford turn out by the dozen.  Well dressed, athletic, silent, a thorough gentleman—­et voila tout.”

The face of Vassili expressed something remarkably like disbelief.

“Ye—­es,” he said slowly.

“And you?” suggested De Chauxville.

“You leave too much to my imagination,” said Vassili.  “You relate mere facts—­have you no suppositions, no questions in your mind about the man?”

“I want to know what his purpose in life may be.  There is a purpose—­one sees it in his face.  I want also to know what he does with his spare time; he must have much to dispose of in England.”