“Oh, yes,” Her Majesty said. “I don’t think I’ll have any either. An old lady has to be very careful of her system, you know.” “You do not look like an old lady,” Petkoff said gallantly. “Middle-aged, perhaps, to be cruel. But certainly not old. Not over ... oh, perhaps forty.” Her Majesty smiled politely at him. Malone began to wonder if it had been gallantry, after all. From what he’d seen of the Russian women, it was likely, after all, that Petkoff really thought Her Majesty wasn’t much over forty at that. “You’re very flattering, Major,” Her Majesty said. “But I assure you that I’m a good deal older than I look.” Malone tried to tell himself that no one else had noticed the stifled gulp that had followed that remark. It had been his own stifled gulp. And his face, he felt sure, had aged one hundred and twelve years within a second or so. He waited for Her Majesty to tell Major Petkoff just how old she really was.... But she said nothing else. After a second she turned and smiled at Malone. “Thanks,” he said. “Oh, you’re quite welcome,” she said. Petkoff frowned at both of them, shrugged, and readied the bottle. “Well, then,” he said. “It seems as if the drinking will be done by men—and that is right. Vodka is the drink for men.” He had filled his own glass full of the cold, clear liquid. Now he filled Malone’s. He stood, glass in hand. Malone also climbed to his feet. “To the continued friendship of our two countries!” Petkoff said. He raised his glass for a second, then downed the contents. Malone followed suit. The vodka burned its merry way into his stomach. They sat. A waiter arrived with a large platter. “Ah,” Petkoff said, turning. “Try some of this caviar, Mr. Malone. You will find it the finest in the world.” Malone, somehow, had never managed to develop a taste for caviar. He was willing to admit, if pressed, that this made him an uncultured slob, but caviar always made him think of the joke about the country bumpkin who thought it was marvelous that you could soften up buckshot just by soaking it in fish oil. Now, though, he felt he had to be polite, and he tried some of the stuff. All things considered, it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. And it did make a pretty good chaser for the vodka. Her Majesty also helped herself to some caviar. “My goodness,” she said. “This reminds me of the old days.” Malone waited, once again, with bated breath. But, though Her Majesty may have been crazy, she wasn’t stupid. She said nothing more. Petkoff, meanwhile, refilled the glasses and looked expectantly at Malone. This time it was his turn to propose the toast. He thought for a second, then stood up and raised his glass. “To the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said, feeling just a little like a character in _War and Peace_. “Luba Vasilovna Garbitsch.”