I met Frank at Cubat’s....  Heaven knows how he got released from custody.  I could not help it when he approached my table and greeted me; I asked him whether he had heard anything from Colonel Makevich.  He asked me about Maroossia, so one thing led to another, and finally the waiter brought a chair.  “Can I join you?” he asked.  I growled something like “delighted” and so he sat down.  The conversation at first was rather general, and then suddenly: 

“Did you hear anything of the Baroness B’s. case, and how is she now?” he said.

This unexpected question put Frank in a new light.  I had to take several puffs of my cigarette to think over my answer.  Frank gave me time to prepare the response in giving orders to the maitre d’hotel.  Quite a bit of time elapsed after he questioned me.  I hoped for an instant that he was going to forget about it, but, alas, when he was through with his orders (from which I understood that he either had become rich, or expected me to pay his check) he looked at me and repeated: 

“Yes, sir, did you hear anything new of the poor Baroness?”

“Well,” I replied, “the only thing that we all know:  she is in jail.”

“Your information,” he smiled, “is quite old.  They released her about a day or two after this misunderstanding was cleared up.”

“What do you mean ‘misunderstanding.’  You would not call such a case so gently, I suppose?”

“Here we are!” Frank said, lowering his voice.  “So you must know more than the average person.  I, personally, knew only that there was an arrest, and a release (as I saw the Baroness) after they understood that there was no reason for holding a perfectly loyal lady.  I think we should talk it over again, but not here.  I read in the Town Activities column that your wife went to Tula.  Couldn’t you join me for dinner tonight at Contant, say at seven-thirty?”

My first impulse was to refuse him flat.  Then I happened to think that my avoiding him would perhaps somehow reflect on Maroossia for her silly behavior with the package.  Besides I was interested to know what Frank would talk about, and to know what happened to the B. And again it interested me to know what he was doing at present.  So I hesitated.

“Please do, decide affirmatively,” he begged.  “I feel sure you will not regret a good dinner.”

“Very well,” I said, “at seven-thirty.”

After luncheon I crossed the street to see Mikhalovsky, whom I was sure to find in the Club.  He was going out with Polenov.

“Aha, dear boy!” Polenov said to me.  “The wife is away, and here he runs around like—... (his comparisons are striking, but very rough!) Come on with me.  There are no political parties or platforms at Nadejda Stepanovna.  A little lawyer, and an old soldier are equally welcome.  Nadejda Stepanovna just telephoned there are new ones.”

The old fool!  As if there was a single living being in the town that would not know that all his pleasures were reduced to kissing a new girl on the forehead and petting her behind the ears!  Nadejda Stepanovna told me how they all laughed watching Polenov through the keyhole....  “Thanks,” I said, “I am through with the Oficerskaya Street.”  So he went alone, trying to look younger and straighter.