Deulin did not think it necessary to refer to the object of Cartoner's ride. Neither did he mention the fact that he knew that this was not the direct way to St. Petersburg. “I hired a horse and rode out to meet you,” he said, gayly--he was singularly gay this morning, and there was a light in his eye--“to intercept you. Kosmaroff is back in Warsaw. I saw him in the streets--and he saw me. I think that man is the god in the machine. He is not a nonentity. I wonder who he is. There is blood there, my friend.” He turned his horse as he spoke, and rode back towards the city with Cartoner. “In the mean time,” he said, “I have the hunger of a beggar's dog. What are we to do? It is one o'clock--and I have the inside of a Frenchman. We are a great people. We tear down monarchies, and build up a new republic which is to last forever, and doesn't. We make history so quickly that the world stands breathless--but we always breakfast before mid-day.” He took out his watch, and showed its face to Cartoner, with a gesture which could not have been more tragic had it marked the hour of the last trump. “And we dare not show our faces in the streets. At least, I dare not show mine in the neighborhood of yours in Warsaw. For they have got accustomed to me there. They think I am a harmless old man--a dentist, perhaps.” “My train goes from the St. Petersburg Station at three,” said Cartoner. “I will have some lunch at the other station, and drive across in a close cab with the blinds down.” And he gave his low, gentle laugh. Deulin glanced at him as if there were matter for surprise in the sound of it. “Like a monstrosity going to a fair,” he said. “And I shall go with you. I will even lunch with you at the station--a station steak and a beery table. There is only one room at the station for those who eat and those who await their trains. So that the eaters eat before a famished audience like Louis XVI., and the travellers sit among the crumbs. I am with you. But let us be quick--and get it over. Did you see Bukaty?” he asked, finally, and, leaning forward, he sought an imaginary fly on the lower parts of his horse; for, after all, he was only a man, and lacked the higher skill or the thicker skin of the gentler sex in dealing with certain delicate matters. “No, I only saw the princess,” replied Cartoner. And they rode on in silence.