Vassili accepted the match with a bow, and did likewise. He blew a guileless cloud of smoke toward the dingy ceiling.
“Exchange, my dear baron, exchange.”
“Oh, certainly,” replied De Chauxville, who knew that Vassili was in all probability fully informed as to his movements past and prospective. “I am going to visit some old friends in this Government—the Lanovitches, at Thors.”
“Ah!”
“You know them?”
Vassili raised his shoulders and made a little gesture with his cigarette, as much as to say, “Why ask?”
De Chauxville looked at his companion keenly. He was wondering whether this man knew that he—Claude de Chauxville—loved Etta Howard Alexis, and consequently hated her husband. He was wondering how much or how little this impenetrable individual knew and suspected.
“I have always said,” observed Vassili suddenly, “that for unmitigated impertinence give me a diplomatist.”
“Ah! And what would you desire that I should, for the same commodity, give you now?”
“A woman.”