“By the way,” said the Count in a moment, “have you written to the Baroness yet?  Pardon me for reminding you, but you must remember that your letters will have to go out to Russia and back.”

The Baron started.

“Teufel!” he exclaimed.  “I most indeed write.”

“The post goes at twelve.”

The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table and toyed with his pen.  A few minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked—­

“Vat shall I say?”

“Tell her about your journey across Europe—­how the crops look in Russia—­what you think of St. Petersburg—­ that sort of thing.”

A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the Baron burst out

“Ach, I cannot write to-day!  I cannot invent like you.  Ze crops—­I have got zat—­and zat I arrived safe —­and zat Petersburg is nice.  Vat else?”

“Anything you can remember from text-books on Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar.  Just a word or two, don’t you know, to show you’ve been there; with a few comments of your own.”

“Vat like comments?”

“Such as—­’Somewhat annoyed with bombs this afternoon,’ or ’This caused me to reflect upon the disadvantages of an alcoholic marine’—­any little bit of philosophy that occurs to you.”

The Baron pondered.

“It is a pity zat I have not been in Rossia,” he observed.

“On the other hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn’t.  Look at the bright side of things, my dear fellow.”

For a short time, from the way in which the Baron took hasty notes in pencil and elaborated them in ink (according to the system of Professor Virchausen), it appeared that he was following his friend’s directions.  Later, from a sentimental look in his eye, the Count surmised that he was composing an amorous addendum; and at last he laid down his pen with a sigh which the cynical (but only the cynical) might have attributed to relief.

“Ha, my head he is getting more clear!” he announced.  “Gom, let us present ourselves to ze ladies, mine Bonker!”

CHAPTER XII

“It is necessary, Bonker—­you are sure?”

“No Tulliwuddle has ever omitted the ceremony.  If you shirked, I am assured on the very best authority that it would excite the gravest suspicions of your authenticity.”

Count Bunker spoke with an air of the most resolute conviction.  Ever since they arrived he had taken infinite pains to discover precisely what was expected of the chieftain, and having by great good luck made the acquaintance of an elderly individual who claimed to be the piper of the clan, and who proved a perfect granary of legends, he was able to supply complete information on every point of importance.  Once the Baron had endeavored to corroborate these particulars by interviewing the piper himself, but they had found so much difficulty in understanding one another’s dialects that he had been content to trust implicitly to his friend’s information.  The Count, indeed, had rather avoided than sought advice on the subject, and the piper, after several confidential conversations and the passage of a sum of silver into his sporran, displayed an equally Delphic tendency.