It was not yesterday that we were in Petersburg together."
"No," answered Steinmetz. "It was before the German Empire--many years
ago."
De Chauxville counted back with his slim fingers on the
table--delightfully innocent.
"Yes," he said, "the years seem to fly in coveys. Do you ever see any of
our friends of that time--you who are in Russia?"
"Who were our friends of that time?" parried Steinmetz, polishing his
glasses with a silk handkerchief. "My memory is a broken reed--you
remember?"
For a moment Claude de Chauxville met the full, quiet, gray eyes.
"Yes," he said significantly, "I remember. Well--for instance, Prince
Dawoff?"
"Dead. I never see him--thank Heaven!"
"The princess?"
"I never see; she keeps a gambling house in Paris."
"And little Andrea?"
"Never sees me. Married to a wholesale undertaker, who has buried her
past."
"En gros?"
"Et en detail."
"The Count Lanovitch," pursued De Chauxville, "where is he?"
"Banished for his connection with the Charity League."
"Catrina?"
"Catrina is living in the province of Tver--we are neighbors--she and
her mother, the countess."
De Chauxville nodded. None of the details really interested him. His
indifference was obvious.
"Ah! the Countess Lanovitch," he said reflectively, "she was a foolish
woman."
"And is.
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