"But, Vladimir, I think your eyes are getting feeble.

It is time you were sent to the place in the Crimea to rest, like the old horses that can no longer do their share of the work." Vladimir bridled indignantly.

But then a slow smile came over his face.
"Is it Ivan ?" he asked.
"It should be," said Boris.

"I shall know as soon as I see him." The newcomer was waiting in the great hall.

Boris, with Fred at his heels, got a glimpse of him; then without ceremony he ran down the polished staircase.
"So you have come at last!" he cried.
Ivan was a loutish German in appearance, and only his eyes betrayed the fact that he was not as stupid as he looked.