I sprang to his side and said: 'Tell me where it is--I'll fetch it!' If a rag-picker had offered to do a diplomatic service for the Emperor of Russia, the monarch could not have been more astounded than the mate was.

He even stopped swearing.

He stood and stared down at me.

It took him ten seconds to scrape his disjointed remains together again.

Then he said impressively: 'Well, if this don't beat hell!' and turned to his work with the air of a man who had been confronted with a problem too abstruse for solution.
I crept away, and courted solitude for the rest of the day.