“Have you finished your studies in Paris?”
“Oh! I had already received my medical diploma when I came here. I have been living in Paris only to be more at my ease to pursue—a project which interests me.”
“A project?”
Menko asked the question mechanically, feeling very little curiosity to know Labanoff’s secret; but the Russian’s face wore a strange, ironical smile as he answered:
“I have nothing to say on that subject, even to the man for whom I have the most regard.”
His brilliant eyes seemed to see strange visions before them. He remained silent for a moment, and then rose with an abrupt movement.
“There,” he said, “that is all I had to tell you, my dear Menko. Now, ‘au revoir’, or rather, good-by; for, as I said before, I shall probably never see you again.”
“And why, pray?”
“Oh! I don’t know; it is an idea of mine. And then, my beloved Russia is such a strange country. Death comes quickly there.”
He had still upon his lips that inexplicable smile, jesting and sad at once.