All this because thirty years earlier a certain Princess Natásha Alexis had fallen in love with plain Mr. Howard of the British Embassy in St. Petersburg. With Slavonic enthusiasm (for the Russian is the most romantic race on earth) she informed Mr. Howard of the fact, and duly married him. Both these persons were now dead, and Paul Howard Alexis owed it to his mother's influence in high regions that the responsibilities of princedom were his. At the time when this title was accorded to him he had no say in the matter. Indeed, he had little say in any matters except meals, which he still took in liquid form. Certain it is, however, that he failed to appreciate his honors as soon as he grew up to a proper comprehension of them. Equally certain is it that he entirely failed to recognize the enviability of his position as he rode across the plains of Tver toward the yellow Volga by the side of Karl Steinmetz. "This is great nonsense," he said suddenly. "I feel like a Nihilist or some theatrical person of that sort. I do not think it can be necessary, Steinmetz." "Not necessary," answered Steinmetz in thick guttural tones, "but prudent." This man spoke with the soft consonants of a German. "Prudent, my dear prince." "Oh, drop that!" "When we sight the Volga I will drop it with pleasure. Good Heavens! I wish I were a prince. I should have it marked on my linen, and sit up in bed to read it on my nightshirt." "No, you wouldn't, Steinmetz," answered Alexis, with a vexed laugh. "You would hate it just as much as I do, especially if it meant running away from the best bear-shooting in Europe." Steinmetz shrugged his shoulders. "Then you should not have been charitable--charity, I tell you, Alexis, covers no sins in this country." "Who made me charitable? Besides, no decent-minded fellow could be anything else here. Who told me of the League of Charity, I should like to know? Who put me into it? Who aroused my pity for these poor beggars? Who but a stout German cynic called Steinmetz?" "Stout, yes--cynic, if you will--German, no!" The words were jerked out of him by the galloping horse. "Then what are you?" Steinmetz looked straight in front of him, with a meditation in his quiet eyes which made a dreamy man of him. "That depends." Alexis laughed. "Yes, I know. In Germany you are a German, in Russia a Slav, in Poland a Pole, and in England any thing the moment suggests."