The Price of Things | Page 6

that is all, but in years to
come it will have developed into 'Verisschenzko.'"
"How you study things, Stépan; you are always putting new ideas into
my head whenever I see you. Life would be just a routine, for all the
joy of sport, if one did not think. I am going to finish my soldiering this
autumn and stand for Parliament. It seems waste of time now, with no
wars in prospect, sticking to it; I want a vaster field."
"You think there can be no wars in prospect--no? Well, who can
prophesy? There are clouds in the Southeast, but for the moment we
will not speculate about them--and they may affect my country and not
yours. And so you will settle down and become a reputable member of

Parliament?" Then, as Denzil would have spoken perhaps upon the
subject of war clouds, Verisschenzko hastily continued:
"Will you dine to-morrow night at the Ritz to meet your cousin and his
wife? They are honouring me."
"I wish I could, but I am off in the morning. What is she like?"
Verisschenzko paid particular attention to the selection of a quail, and
then he answered:
"She is of the same type as the family, Denzil,--that is, a good
skeleton--bones in the right place, firm white flesh, colouring as
yours--well bred, balanced, unawakened as yet. Was she a relation?"
"Yes, I believe so--a cousin of a generation even before mine. I wish I
could have dined, I would awfully like to have met them; I shall have
to make a chance in England. It is stupid not to know one's own family,
but our fathers quarrelled and we have never had a chance of mending
the break."
"They were at the Russian Embassy last night; the throng admired Lady
Ardayre very much."
"And what are you doing in Paris, Stépan? The last I heard of you, you
were on your yacht in the Black Sea."
"I was cruising near countries whose internal affairs interest me for the
moment. I returned to my appartement in Paris to see a friend of mine,
Stanislass Boleski--he also has a lovely wife. Look, she has just come
in with him. She is in the devil of a temper--observe her. If I sit back,
the pillar hides me--I do not wish them to see me yet."
Denzil glanced down the room; two people were taking their seats by
the wall. The mask was off Harietta Boleski's face for the moment; it
looked silly with its raised eyebrows and was full of ill temper and
spite. The husband had an air of extreme worry on his clever,
intellectual face, but that he was solicitous to gratify his wife's caprices,

any casual observer could have perceived.
"You mean the woman with the wonderful _cigrettes_--she is
good-looking, isn't she? I wonder who it is she has caught sight of now,
though? Look at the eagerness which has come into her eyes--you can
see her in the mirror if you want to."
But Verisschenzko had missed nothing, and he bent forward to
endeavour to identify the person upon whom Madame Boleski's gaze
had turned. There was nothing to distinguish any individual--the
company were of several nations--German and Austrian and Balkan
and Russian scattered about here and there among the French and
American _habitués_. The only plan would be to continue to watch
Harietta--but although he did this throughout the dinner, not a flicker of
her eyelids gave him any further clue.
Denzil was interested--he felt something beyond what appeared on the
surface was taking place, so he waited for his friend to speak.
Verisschenzko was silent for a little, and then he casually gave a
résumé of the character and place of Madame Boleski and her husband,
a good deal more baldly expressed, but in substance much the same as
he had given to Amaryllis at the Russian Embassy the night before.
He spoke lightly, but his yellow green eyes were keen.
"Look at her well--she is capable of mischief. Her extreme
stupidity--only the brain of a rodent or a goat--makes her more difficult
to manipulate than the cleverest diplomat, because you can never be
sure whether the blank want of understanding which she displays is real
or simulated. She is a perfect actress, but very often is quite natural.
Most women are either posing all the time, or not at all. Harietta's
miming only comes into action for self-preservation, or personal gain,
and then it is of such a superb quality that she leaves even me--I, who
am no poor diviner--confused as to whether she is telling a lie or the
truth."
"What an exceptional character!" Denzil was thrilled.

"An absence of all moral sense is her great power," Verisschenzko
continued, while he watched her narrowly, "because she never has any
of