with such matters here, except in so far
as they affect the persons connected with this record. The Concours
Hippique, be it therefore known, was at its height. Great deeds of
horsemanship had been successfully accomplished. The fair had smiled
beneath pencilled eyebrows upon the brave in uniform and breeches. At
the time when we join the fashionable throng, the fair are smiling their
brightest. It is, in fact, an interval for refreshment.

A crowd of well-dressed men jostled each other good-naturedly around a
long table, where insolent waiters served tepid coffee, and sandwiches
that had been cut by the hand of a knave. In the background a number of
ladies nodded encouragement to their cavaliers in the intervals of
scrutinizing each other's dresses. Many pencilled eyebrows were raised
in derision of too little style displayed by some innocent rival, or
brought down in disapproval of too much of the same vague quality
displayed by one less innocent.

In the midst of these, as in his element, moved the Baron Claude de
Chauxville, smiling his courteous, ready smile, which his enemies called
a grin. He took up less room than the majority of the men around him; he
succeeded in passing through narrower places, and jostled fewer people.
In a word, he proved to his own satisfaction, and to the discomfiture of
many a younger man, his proficiency in the gentle art of getting on in
the world.

Not far from him stood a stout gentleman of middle age, with a heavy
fair mustache brushed upward on either side. This man had an air of
distinction which was notable even in this assembly; for there were many
distinguished people present, and a Frenchman of note plays his part
better than do we dull, self-conscious islanders. This man looked like a
general, so upright was he, so keen his glance, so independent the
carriage of his head.

He stood with his hands behind his back, looking gravely on at the
social festivity. He bowed and raised his hat to many, but he entered
into conversation with none.

"Ce Vassili," he heard more than once whispered, "c'est un homme
dangereux."

And he smiled all the more pleasantly.

Now, if a very keen observer had taken the trouble to ignore the throng
and watch two persons only, that observer might have discovered the fact
that Claude de Chauxville was slowly and purposely making his way toward
the man called Vassili.

De Chauxville knew and was known of many. He had but recently arrived
from