There were half-a-dozen men in the coffee-room at the club.
"What I like about this place," said Tweed, across the table, to
Stefanovitch, "is that they feed you well. The big restaurants have
spoilt most clubs in that respect. If ever----" he stopped, and took his
arms off the table as a uniformed waiter approached with a bottle of
champagne. The man held the dusty neck with a serviette, drew the cork,
and filled two glasses. Stefanovitch, lost in thought, did not observe
the act. When he looked down he flushed slightly as he said, "Thank you,
I do not care to drink before eating."
The other was visibly annoyed as he glanced at the clock. "Our man is
behind time," said he. "A bad thing in a soldier. By the way, I wonder
if you do know him? I should say that he is a man of iron--one of those
fellows whom you couldn't drive nails into, to quote a picturesque
expression, and the last man on earth of whom I should care to make an
enemy."
"You said that, when you were all together in Cumberland," answered the
other, speaking with apparent effort, "this Ivan Vassilitch, whom I am
to meet to-night, appeared rather fond of Gabrielle. Of course----"
Tweed laughed outright. "Don't worry," said he. "Mademoiselle Rupinsky
was to him as to most of us--a beautiful statue. Her cold reserve is now
fully explained; she believes that you are either dead or yet an exile.
You will make her a happy woman to-morrow, Boris. Ah! an idea.
Vassilitch may be wiser than I. He may have her address, in which case
you will not have to wait for this letter from Etheridge. And that is a
point which will soon be settled, for here comes our man."
The tall figure of Ivan Vassilitch appeared at the door of the spacious
coffee-room. His hat and coat had been taken from him. He at once
perceived Tweed, and dismissed with a nod the servant who had conducted
him thither. Tweed gripped his hand with almost boyish fervour.
"So pleased to see you," said he. "Come along, I will introduce you to a
fellow-countryman who----Halloa! you know one anoth----" He broke off on
the unfinished word.
Stefanovitch had risen to his feet. He faced Vassilitch. Into his eyes a
wild expression leaped, a look of haunting fear, of cowering terror.
Tweed, with astonishment, observed that piteous gaze, and thought
instinctively of a half-tamed animal that turns upon its master.
Stefanovitch recoiled a step, one hand grasping a chair-back, the other
clutching the table-cloth, and with all the strength of his spirit he
strove to beat down the straight look of this man who, by an hour of
horror, had well-nigh broken that spirit.
Vassilitch was the first to break the silence. He said, unflinchingly,
"Monsieur Stefanovitch appears to recognise me. He has a good memory for
faces. Yes; we have met before."
At the words, or the callous tone in which they were spoken, a sudden
frenzy of passion convulsed Stefanovitch. Uttering a stifled cry of
"Scoundrel!" he snatched up his untasted glass of wine and flung the
contents in the face of Vassilitch.
[Illustration: "HE SNATCHED UP HIS UNTASTED GLASS OF WINE AND FLUNG THE
CONTENTS IN THE FACE OF VASSILITCH."]
"Are you mad?" exclaimed Tweed, grasping the outstretched arm.
A waiter who had observed the action took a step forward, then
hesitated, ready for developments.
The ex-officer of Cossacks wiped the liquid from his face and coat. He
was very pale. He turned to Tweed.
"I compliment you on the manners of your friends," said he; "they are
delightful. I have the honour to wish you good evening." He bowed
slightly, twice--the second time to Stefanovitch, who had sunk into a
chair; then he quitted the room.