“Thanks, very much,” replied Cartoner. “I, of course, do not know how long I shall stay. I am not my own master, you understand. I never know from one day to another what my movements may be.”
“No,” replied Martin, in the absent tone of one who only half hears. “No, of course not. By-the-way, we have the races coming on. I hope you will be here for them. In our small way, it is the season in Warsaw now. But, of course, there are difficulties—even the races present difficulties—there is the military element.”
He paused and indicated with a short nod the Russian officer who was passing to his carriage in front of them.
“They have the best horses,” he explained. “They have more money than we have. We have been robbed, as you know. You, whose business it is.”
He turned, with his foot on the step of the carriage. He was so accustomed to the recognition of his rank that he went first without question.
“Yes,” he said, with a laugh, “I had quite forgotten that it is your business to know all about us.”
“I have tried to remind you of it several times,” answered Cartoner, quietly.
“To shut me up, you mean?” asked the younger man.
“Yes.”
Martin was standing at the door of Cartoner's compartment. He turned away with a laugh.