“Quite,” answered Paul; “and it is the obvious duty of those who know better to teach the dog to avoid the places where the traps are set. Thanks, the olives are excellent.”
“Ah!” said Vassili, turning courteously to Maggie, “I sometimes thank my star that I am not a landholder—only a poor bureaucrat. It is so difficult to comprehend these questions, mademoiselle. But of all men in or out of Russia it is possible our dear prince knows best of what he is talking.”
“Oh, no!” disclaimed Paul, with that gravity at which some were ready to laugh. “I only judge in a small way from, a small experience.”
“Ah! you are too modest. You know the peasants thoroughly, you understand them, you love them—so, at least, I have been told. Is it not so, Mme. la Princesse?”
Karl Steinmetz was frowning over an olive.
“I really do not know,” said Etta, who had glanced across the table.
“I assure you, madame, it is so. I am always hearing good of you, prince.”
“From whom?” asked Paul.
Vassili shrugged his peculiarly square shoulders.
“Ah! From all and sundry.”