“Of Tver?”
“Of Tver. What you know from your point of view, you understand, my dear Vassili. Nothing political, nothing incriminating, nothing official. I only want a few social details.”
Again the odd smile fell over the dignified face.
“In case,” said Vassili, rather slowly, “I should only impart to you stale news and valueless details with which you are already acquainted, I must ask you to tell me first what you know—from your point of view.”
“Certainly,” answered De Chauxville, with engaging frankness. “The man I know slightly is the sort of thing that Eton and Oxford turn out by the dozen. Well dressed, athletic, silent, a thorough gentleman—et voil` tout.”
The face of Vassili expressed something remarkably like disbelief.
“Ye—es,” he said slowly.
“And you?” suggested De Chauxville.
“You leave too much to my imagination,” said Vassili. “You relate mere facts—have you no suppositions, no questions in your mind about the man?”
“I want to know what his purpose in life may be. There is a purpose—one sees it in his face. I want also to know what he does with his spare time; he must have much to dispose of in England.”