“B-a-t-h-i-l-d-i-s.”
“Thank you,” I replied briefly.
“What does it mean? Is it some password?” Ivan Stoyanovitch asked with considerable curiosity.
“That’s scarcely a fair question,” I said in rebuke.
“Ah! of course,” he replied, with a touch of sarcasm. “I ought not to have asked you. Pardon me, my friend. I forgot that you enjoy His Majesty’s confidence—that—”
“Not at all,” I protested. “I am but a humble attaché of a foreign Embassy. It is not likely that I am entrusted with the secrets of Russia.”
“Not with those of Russia, but those of the Emperor personally. Dachkoff was discussing you at the Turf Club one night not long ago.”
“That’s interesting,” I laughed. “And what had the old man to say?”
“Oh, nothing of a very friendly nature. But, you know, he never has a good word to say for anybody.”
“Gamblers seldom have. I hear he lost ten thousand roubles to Prince Savinski at the Union the night before last.”