Paul passed through the ranks of his retainers, himself a head taller
than the tallest footman, a few inches broader than the sturdiest
keeper. He acknowledged the low bows by a quick nod, and passed up the
staircase. Steinmetz--in evening dress, wearing the insignia of one or
two orders which he had won in the more active days of his earlier
diplomatic life--was waiting for him at the head of the stairs.
The two men bowed gravely to each other. Steinmetz threw open the door
of the great room and stood aside. The prince passed on, and the German
followed him, each playing his part gravely, as men in high places are
called to do. When the door was closed behind them and they were alone,
there was no relaxation, no smile of covert derision. These men knew the
Russian character thoroughly. There is, be it known, no more
impressionable man on the face of God's earth. Paul and Steinmetz had
played their parts so long that these came to be natural to them as soon
as they passed the Volga. We are all so in a minor degree. In each
house, to each of our friends, we are unconsciously different in some
particular. One man holds us in awe, and we unconsciously instil that
feeling. Another considers us a buffoon, and, lo! we are exceedingly
funny.
Paul and Steinmetz knew that the people around them in Osterno were
somewhat like the dumb and driven beast.
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