He was wondering heavily whether any of it had been as bad as what Paul was bearing now while he looked out of the window with his hands in his pockets, saying nothing.
At length Paul moved.

He turned, and, coming toward the table, laid his hand on Steinmetz's broad shoulder.
"Are you sure of it ?" he asked, in a voice that did not sound like his own at all--a hollow voice like that of an old man.
"Quite; I have it from Stepan Lanovitch--from the princess herself." They remained thus for a moment.

Then Paul withdrew his hand and walked slowly to the window.
"Tell me," he said, "how she did it." Steinmetz was playing with the quill pen again.

It is singular how at great moments we perform trivial acts, think trivial thoughts.

He dipped the pen in the ink, and made a pattern on the blotting-pad with dots.
"It was an organized plan between husband and wife," he said.
"Bamborough turned up at Thors and asked for a night's lodging, on the strength of a very small acquaintance.