There was no sign of recognition in his eyes now, nor pallor on her face.
“A beautiful country, but the rest of Europe does not believe it. And the estate of the prince is one of the vastest, if not the most beautiful. It is a sporting estate, is it not, prince?”
“Essentially so,” replied Paul. “Bears, wolves, deer, besides, of course, black game, capercailzie, ptarmigan—every thing one could desire.”
“Speaking as a sportsman,” suggested Vassili gravely.
“Speaking as a sportsman.”
“Of course—” Vassili paused, and with a little gesture of the hand included Steinmetz in the conversation. It may have been that he preferred to have him talking than watching. “Of course, like all great Russian landholders, you have your troubles with the people, though you are not, strictly speaking, within the famine district.”
“Not quite; we are not starving, but we are hungry,” said Steinmetz bluntly.
Vassili laughed, and shook a gold eye-glass chidingly.
“Ah, my friend, your old pernicious habit of calling a spade a spade! It is unfortunate that they should hunger a little, but what will you? They must learn to be provident, to work harder and drink less. With such people experience is the only taskmaster possible. It is useless talking to them. It is dangerous to pauperize them. Besides, the accounts that one reads in the newspapers are manifestly absurd and exaggerated. You must not, mademoiselle,” he said, turning courteously to Maggie, “you must not believe all you are told about Russia.”
“I do not,” replied Maggie, with an honest smile which completely baffled M. Vassili. He had not had much to do with people who smiled honestly.