The American would have replied, but the girl Tanya, who had stood behind his chair, broke in quickly.
"Monsieur Rowlan' is tired, Kirylo Ivanitch. Is it not better that I show him to his room? Tomorrow he will tell you--"
"Your Chartreuse has already restored me, Mademoiselle."
The Russian waved his hand and Tanya Korasov sank into a chair.
"An American! I have always wanted to go to America. One day you will learn to think over there. And then you will be able to help with the great problems of Europe. Your mother was Italian?" he asked.
Phil Rowland smiled good-naturedly at the persistence of his questioner.
"Yes, Monsieur. Of an ancient and noble family. But in America we make little of ancestry."
"Yet, it is important."
The deep gaze of the Russian, which had been fixed upon the jug upon the table, turned slowly and fastened upon the uniform of the Légionnaire, the shocking condition of which had not been visible in the dim light of the garden.
"You have fared badly, Monsieur Rowlan'. Your uniform shows hard usage."