"The end of my journey is Stapleton, Lord Barnstake's place, and not a great way from Edinbro'. Shall I have the pleasure of your Company as far as I go by rail?"
"Ah, no, sir, not so far as that. Only to ----. There I must leave you, and take the train for Windermere. I live on the banks of your beautiful lake. Permettez-moi, monsieur," and with a movement that was a combination of a shrug, a grimace, and a bow, the stranger drew a card-case from one of his pockets, and extracting a card therefrom, handed it to Ducie.
The captain took it with a bow, and sticking his glass in his eye, read:
M. Paul Platzoff.
Bon Repos,
Windermere.
The captain in return handed over his pasteboard credential, and this solemn rite being accomplished conversation was resumed on more easy and agreeable terms.
"I dare say you are puzzling your brains as to my nationality," said Platzoff with a smile. "I am not an Englishman; that you can tell from my accent. I am not a Frenchman, although I write 'monsieur' before my name. Still less am I either a German or an Italian. Neither am I a genuine Russian, although I look to Russia as my native country. In brief, my father was a Russian, my mother was a Frenchwoman, and I was born on board a merchantman during a gale of wind in the Baltic."
"Then I should call you a true cosmopolitan--a genuine citizen of the world," remarked Ducie, who was amused with his new friend's frankness.
"In ideas I strive to be such, but it is difficult at all times to overcome the prejudices of education and early training," answered Platzoff. "You, sir, are, I presume, in the army?"
"Formerly I was in the army, but I sold out nearly a dozen years ago," answered Ducie, drily. "Does this fellow expect me to imitate his candour?" thought the captain. "Would he like to know all about my grandfather and grandmother, and that I have a cousin who is an earl? If so, I am afraid he will be disappointed.