I should have it marked on my linen, and sit up in bed to read it on my nightshirt." "No, you wouldn't, Steinmetz," answered Alexis, with a vexed laugh.

"You would hate it just as much as I do, especially if it meant running away from the best bear-shooting in Europe." Steinmetz shrugged his shoulders.
"Then you should not have been charitable--charity, I tell you, Alexis, covers no sins in this country." "Who made me charitable?
Besides, no decent-minded fellow could be anything else here.

Who told me of the League of Charity, I should like to know?
Who put me into it?
Who aroused my pity for these poor beggars?
Who but a stout German cynic called Steinmetz ?" "Stout, yes--cynic, if you will--German, no!" The words were jerked out of him by the galloping horse.
"Then what are you ?" Steinmetz looked straight in front of him, with a meditation in his quiet eyes which made a dreamy man of him.
"That depends." Alexis laughed.
"Yes, I know.

In Germany you are a German, in Russia a Slav, in Poland a Pole, and in England any thing the moment suggests." "Exactly so.

But to return to you.