Steinmetz, who held an open letter in his hand, looked out of the window
across the quiet Place Vendome. A north wind was blowing with true
Parisian keenness, driving before it a fine snow, which adhered bleakly
to the northern face of a column which is chiefly remarkable for the
facility with which it falls and rises again.
Steinmetz looked at the letter with a queer smile. He held it out from
him as if he distrusted the very stationery.
"So friendly," he exclaimed; "so very friendly! 'Ce bon Steinmetz' he
calls me. 'Ce bon Steinmetz'--confound his cheek! He hopes that his dear
prince will waive ceremony and bring his charming princess to dine quite
en famille at his little pied a terre in the Champs Elysees. He
guarantees that only his sister, the marquise, will be present, and he
hopes that 'Ce bon Steinmetz,' will accompany you, and also the young
lady, the cousin of the princess."
Steinmetz threw the letter down on the table, left it there for a
moment, and then, picking it up, he crossed the room and threw it into
the fire.
"Which means," he explained, "that M. Vassili knows we are here, and
unless we dine with him we shall be subjected to annoyance and delay on
the frontier by a stupid--a singularly and suspiciously stupid--minor
official. If we refuse, Vassili will conclude that we are afraid of him.
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