A TALE THAT IS TOLD Karl Steinmetz walked slowly upstairs to his own room.

The evening sun, shining through the small, deeply embrasured windows, fell on a face at no time joyous, now tired and worn.

He sat down at his broad writing-table, and looked round the room with a little blink of the eyelids.
"I am getting too old for this sort of thing," he said.
His gaze lighted on the heavy riding-whip thrown on the ground near the door where he had released Claude de Chauxville, after the terrible punishment meted out to that foe with heavy Teutonic hand.

Steinmetz rose, and picking up the whip with the grunt of a stout man stooping, replaced it carefully in the rack over the mantelpiece.
He stood looking out of the window for a few moments.
"It will have to be done," he said resolutely, and rang the bell.
"My compliments to the prince," he said to his servant, who appeared instantly, "and will he come to me here." When Paul came into the room a few minutes later Steinmetz was standing by the fire.

He turned and looked gravely at the prince.
"I have just kicked De Chauxville out of the house," he said.
The color left Paul's face quite suddenly.
"Why ?" he asked, with hard eyes.