"What do you deduce from all this?" I asked. "I came on purpose to find out what you think. For my part, I could kill that Frenchman, and perhaps I shall."

"So could I," said Mr. Astley. "As regards Miss Polina, you know ... we may enter into relations even with people who are detestable to us if we are compelled by necessity, r There may be relations of which you know nothing, dependent upon outside circumstances. I think you may set your mind at rest—^to some extent, of course. As for her action yesterday, it was strange, of course; not that she wanted to get rid of you and expose you to the Baron's walking-stick (I don't understand why he did not use it, since he had it in his hands), but because such a prank is improper ... for such an . . . exquisite young lady. Of course, she couldn't have expected that you would carry out her jesting wish so literally . . ;"

"Do you know what?" I cried suddenly, looking intently at Mr. Astley. "It strikes me that you have heard about this aheady—do you know from whom? From MissPolina herself!"

Mr. Astley looked at me with surprise.

"Your eyes are sparkling and I can read your suspicion in them," he said, regaining his former composure; "but you have no right whatever to express your suspicions. I cannot recognise the right, and I absolutely refuse to answer your question."

"Enough! There's no need," I cried, strangely perturbed, and not knowing why it had come into my head. And when, where and how could Mr. Astley have laeen chosen by Polina to confide in? Though, of late, indeed, I had, to some extent, lost sight of Mr. Astley, and Polina was alwa}^ an enigma to me, such an enigma that now, for instance, after launching into an account of my passion to Mr. Astley, I was suddenly struck while I was speaking by the fact that there was scarcely anything positive and definite I could say about our relations. Everything was, on the contrary, strange, unstable, and, in fact, quite unique.

"Oh, very well, very well. I am utterly perplexed and there is a great deal I can't understand at present," I answered, gasping as though I were breathless. "You are a good man, though. And now, another matter, and I ask not your advice, but your opinion."

After a brief pause I began.

"What do you think? why was the General so scared? Why did he make such a to-do over my stupid practical joke? Such a fuss that even De Grieux thought it necessary to interfere (and he interferes only in the most,importcmt matters); visited me (think of that!), begged and besought me—^he, De Grieux —begged and besought me! Note, finally, he came at nine o'clock, and by that time Miss Polina's letter was in his hands. One wonders when it was written. Perhaps they waked Miss Polina up on purpose! Apart from what I see clearly from this, that Miss Polina is his slave (for she even begs my forgiveness!) —apart from that, how is she concerned in all this, she personally; why is she so much interested? Why are they frightened of some Baron? And what if the General is marrying Mile. Blanche Cominges? They say that, owing to that circumstance, they must be particular, but you must admit that this is somewhat too particular! What do you think ? I am sure from your eyes you know more about it llian I do!"

Mr. Astley laughed and nodded.

"Certainly. I believe I know much more about it than you," he said. "Mile. Blanche is the only person concerned, and I am sure that is the absolute truth."

"Well, what about Mile. Blanche?" I cried impatiently. (I suddenly had a hope that something would be disclosed about Mile. Polina.)

"I fancy that Mile. Blanche has at the moment special reasons for avoiding a meeting with the Baron and Baroness, even more an unpleasant meeting, worse still, a scandalous one."

"Well, weU . . ."

"Two years ago MUe. Blanche was here at Roulettenburg in the season. I was here, too. Mile. Blanche was not cafied Mile, de Cominges then, and her mother, Madame la mamem Cominges, was non-existent then. An}7way, she was never mentioned. De Grieux—De Grieux was not here either. I cherish the conviction that, far from being relations, they have only very recently become acquainted. He—^De Grieux—^has only become a marquis very recently, too—I am sure of that from one circumstance. One may sissume, in fact, that his name has not been De Grieux very long either. I know a man here who has met him passing under another name."

"But he really has a veiyreqwctable circle of acquaintances."

"That may be. Even Mile. Blanche may have. But two years ago, at the request of that very Baroness, Mile. Blanche was invited by the police to leave the town, and she did leave it."

"How was that?"

"She made her appearance here first with an Italian, a prince of some sort, with an historical name—Barberini, or something like it—a man covered with rings and diamonds, not false ones either. They used to drive about in a magnificent carriage. Mile. Blanche used to play tretOe et qtoarante, at first winning, though her luck changed later on, as far as I remember. I remember one evening she lost a considerable simi. But, worse still, im beau matin her prince vanished; the horses and the carriage vanished too, everything vanished. The bills owing at the hotels were immense. MUe. Selma (she suddenly ceased to be Barberini, and became Mile. Selma) was in the utmost despair. She was shrieking and wailing all over the hotel, and rent her clothes in her fury. There was a PoUsh count staj^ing here at the hotel (all Polish travellers are counts), and MUe. Selma, rending her garments and scratching her face like a cat with her ^y^iTtiifw) perfumed fingers, made some impression on

him. They talked things over, and by dinner-time she ^yas consoled. In the evening he made his appearance at the Casino with the lady on his arm. As usual, Mile. Selma laughed very loudly, and her manner was somewhat more free and easy than before. She definitely showed that she belonged to the class of ladies who, when they go up to the roulette table, shoulder the other players aside to clear a space for themselves. That's particularly ehic among such ladies. You must have noticed it?"

"Oh, yes."

"It's not worth noticing. To the annoyance of the decent public they are not moved on here—at least, not those of them who can change a thousand-rouble note every day, at the roulette table. As soon as they cease to produce a note to change they are asked to withdraw, however. Mile. Selma still went on changing notes, but her play became more imlucly than ever. Note that such ladies are very often lucky in their play; they have a wonderful self-control. However, my story is finished. One day the Count vanished just as the Prince had done. However, Mile. Selma made her appearance at the roulette table alone; this time no one came forward to offer her his arm. In two days she had lost everything. After laying down her last louis d'or and losing it, she looked round, and saw, close by her. Baron Burmerhelm, who was scrutinising her intently and with profound indignatiai. But Mile. Selma, not noticing his indignation, accosted the Baron with that smile we all know so well, and asked him to put down ten louis d'or on the red for her. In consequence of a complaint from the Baroness she received that evening an invitation not to show herself at the Casino again. If you are surprised at my knowing all these petty and extremely improper details, it is because I have heard them from Mr. Fider, one of my relations, who Ccirried off Mile. Selma in his carriage from Roulettenburg to Spa that very evening. Now, remember. Mile. Blanche wishes to become the General's wife; probably in order in future not to receive such invitations as that one from the police at the Casino, the year before last. Now she does not play; but that is because, as it seems, she has capital of her own which she lends out at a percentage to gamblers here. That's a much safer speculation. I even suspect that the luckless General is in debt to her. Perhaps De Grieux is, too. Perhaps De Grieux is associated with her. You will admit that, till the wedding, at any rate, she can hardly be anxious to attract the atten-