"Quite the contrary."
He drank the beer, and holding out his hand in the shadow of the table,
he noticed that it trembled only a little.
"That is better," he murmured. "But I must sit here a while longer. I
suppose I was upset. That is what they call it--upset! I have never been
like that before. Those lamps in the Prospekt! Gott! how they jumped up
and down!"
He pressed his hand over his eyes as if to shut out the brightness of
the room--the glaring gas and brilliant decorations--the shining bottles
and the many tables which would not keep still.
"Here," he said to the man, "give me more beer."
Presently he rose, and, getting rather clumsily into his sleigh, drove
back at the usual breakneck pace to the palace at the upper end of the
English Quay.
He sent an ambiguous message to Paul, saying that he had returned and
was dressing for dinner. This ceremony he went through slowly, as one
dazed by a great fall or a heavy fatigue. His servant, a quick, silent
man, noticed the strangeness of his manner, and like a wise servant only
betrayed the result of his observation by a readier service, a quicker
hand, a quieter motion.
As Steinmetz went to the drawing-room he glanced at his watch. It was
twenty minutes past seven. He still had ten minutes to spare before
dinner.
He opened the drawing-room door.
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