"And Leof and Big Peter?" I asked, as Constantine ceased speaking. As though with an effort, he recalled himself.
"Big Peter," he said, "is at St. Louis. He is in the pork trade, is married, and has a large family."
"And Leof?"
"Ah, Leof! he went back to Russia at the time of the former Czar's death, and has not been heard of since."
"And you, Constantine, you will never put your nose in the lion's den again—you will never go back to Russia?"
Almost for the first time throughout the long story, Constantine looked me fixedly in the eyes. The strange light of another world, of the fatalist East, looked plainly out of his eyes. Every Russian carries a terrible possibility about with him like a torch of tragic flame, ready to be lighted at any moment.
"That is as may be," he said very slowly; "it is possible that I may go back—at the time of other deaths, and—also—not—return—any—more."