"But he will not talk, princess--he is so shy." Paul was approaching also.

It was eleven o'clock, he said, and travellers who had to make an early start would do well to get home to bed.
When the tall doors had been closed behind the departing guests, Vassili walked slowly to the fire-place.

He posted himself on the bear-skin hearthrug, his perfectly shod feet well apart--a fine dignified figure of a man, of erect and military carriage; a very mask of a face--soulless, colorless, emotionless ever.
He stood biting at his thumb-nail, looking at the door through which Etta Alexis had just passed in all the glory of her beauty, wealth, and position.
"The woman," he said slowly, "who sold me the Charity League papers--and she thinks I do not recognize her!".