Stenovics looked at the paper. "I remember, sir."
"It's indorsed in your hand?"
"Yes."
"The indorsement runs: 'Impossible.' Rather curt, General!"
"The note was for my private use, but your Royal Highness particularly pressed for the return of the document."
"I did. And, after all, why use more words than necessary? One will still be enough—but not that one."
"I'm not following you, sir," said Stenovics.
The Prince leaned across the table to him. "In our conversation, last night, you asked me to do a very remarkable thing, and to get this lady here" (he indicated Sophy) "to do it, too. You remember? We were to think that, at night, in the Street of the Fountain, in the light of the illuminations, Sergius Stefanovitch and Nikolas Stafnitz looked—and sounded—just the same. I didn't see my way to that, and I didn't think this lady would see hers. It seemed so difficult."
Stenovics was in a strain of close attention. The paper from the envelope crackled under the trembling of his hand.
"Now, if we had such a memory as Lieutenant Rastatz is happy enough to possess!" the Prince pursued. "Or if Colonel Stafnitz had taken us into his confidence about his quarrel with Captain Mistitch! All that was not so last night. Consequently, Captain Mistitch must be tried and shot, instead of suffering some not very severe disciplinary punishment, for brawling in the street and having a quarrel with his superior officer."