on. Paul rubbed the dead hand with his sleeve as if it were a
piece of statuary.

"Look here," he continued, "the dirt rubs off and leaves the hand quite
a gentlemanly color. This"--he paused and lifted Steinmetz's
handkerchief, dropping it again hurriedly over the mutilated face--"this
thing was once a gentleman."

"It certainly has seen better days," admitted Steinmetz, with a grim
humor which was sometimes his. "Come, let us drag him beneath that
pine-tree and ride on to Tver. We shall do no good, my dear Alexis,
wasting our time over the possible antecedents of a gentleman who, for
reasons of his own, is silent on the subject."

Paul rose from the ground. His movements were those of a strong and
supple man, one whose muscles had never had time to grow stiff. He was
an active man, who never hurried. Standing thus upright he was very
tall--nearly a giant. Only in St. Petersburg, of all the cities of the
world, could he expect to pass unnoticed--the city of tall men and plain
women. He rubbed his two hands together in a singularly professional
manner which sat amiss on him.

"What do you propose doing?" he asked. "You know the laws of this
country better than I do."

Steinmetz scratched his forehead with his forefinger.

"Our theatrical friends the police," he said, "are going to enjoy this.
Suppose we prop him up sitting against that tree--no one will run away
with him--and lead his horse into Tver. I will give notice to the
police, but I will not do so until you are in the Petersburg train. I
will, of course, give the ispravnik to understand that your princely
mind could not be bothered by such details as this--that you have
proceeded on your journey."

"I do not like leaving the poor beggar alone all night," said Paul.
"There may be wolves--the crows in the early morning."

"Bah! that is because you are so soft-hearted. My dear fellow, what
business is it of ours if the universal laws of nature are illustrated
upon this unpleasant object? We all live on each other. The wolves and
the crows have the last word. Tant mieux for the wolves and the crows!
Come, let us carry him to that tree."

The moon was just rising over the line of the horizon. All around them
the steppe lay in grim and lifeless silence. In such a scene, where life
seemed rare and precious, death gained in its power of inspiring fear.
It is different in crowded cities, where an excess of human life seems
to vouch for the continuity of the ra