Fortunately, the answer that was on my lips was checked by the entrance of a serf bringing the inevitable _vodka_ and caviare that were always served to every guest in a Russian house, and the fact that I was an unwelcome one did not prevent the usual courtesy being tendered to me. The serf, placing the refreshments on the table and filling the cups, withdrew. The boyar invited me to partake, but at the moment I had no thought of accepting his hospitality. “Of course I know that you are aware of your brother’s presence in Moscow, M. Ramodanofsky,” I said haughtily, “and it seems to me wiser for you to acknowledge his authority over his own daughter. You know him well enough to understand that he will tolerate no interference with his rights, and he demands that you surrender Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky into his hands. Your steward Polotsky is in his custody, and has confessed enough to make the rest easy.” For the first time, I saw a change, sharp and sudden, in that inscrutable face; whatever the steward knew, it was too much for the master’s peace of mind. I could see the contending emotions in those cruel, narrow eyes, the contraction of the bloodless lips. I waited, seeing that he was hesitating over some new move. In a moment he rose, and going to the French cabinet, fumbled at the drawers. I walked away across the room and waited, willing to give him a little grace. There was something about the man which held my interest, and stayed my anger; was it the courage of despair? Without a word, he came back from the cabinet with some papers in his hands and stood turning them over by the table; what revelation did he contemplate? My curiosity being roused, I watched him, feigning all the while to look out of the window into the court; but from where I was, I could cast a sidelong glance into the French mirror, and see him as he stood there in his dark, rich dress with the lace ruffles at his throat and hands, the gold of the Oriental embroidery on his robe making fantastic arabesques upon the purple velvet, and his white face standing out against the somber background; a forbidding picture, yet not without a certain majestic dignity and power. While I watched, I saw him bend over the cups of _vodka_, a swift movement followed by instant repose. Then he turned his face towards me. “Be seated, M. le Vicomte,” he said, “and we will talk this matter over.” I approached the table and inclined my head as he pushed the cup of _vodka_ towards me. “You have neglected to fasten your cabinet door, monsieur,” I said carelessly, “and the papers are falling out.” He turned his head quickly, and seeing the door pushed open by the protruding papers, he stepped back and closed it. In that moment I changed the cups. He heard the click and glanced around sharply, but I was merely tapping the table with my finger.