He was right. The Russian general was there, chatting affably across the counter about the weather.
He nodded at the Prince with a well-assumed carelessness.
"Go well to-night?" he inquired casually.
Prince Otto clenched his fists; but he had had a rigorously diplomatic up-bringing, and knew how to keep a hold on himself. When he spoke it was in the familiar language of diplomacy.
"The rain has stopped," he said, "but the pavements are still wet underfoot. Has your grace taken the precaution to come out in a good stout pair of boots?"
The shaft plainly went home, but the Grand Duke's manner, as he replied, was unruffled.
"Rain," he said, sipping his vermouth, "is always wet; but sometimes it is cold as well."
"But it never falls upwards," said the Prince, pointedly.
"Rarely, I understand. Your powers of observation are keen, my dear Prince."
There was a silence; then the Prince, momentarily baffled, returned to the attack.