I saw them both."

Again the narrative broke in a pause, and the bright, dark eyes of the
Russian sobered into reflectiveness and pain.

"You have seen his pictures? Nicholas Nicholaivitch, I mean? Yes, of
course; but they fail to give the adequate impression: the tall, gaunt
power of the figure; the dauntless eagle pride of the eye and stern
sadness of the mouth; the noble dignity of bearing! When the Tzar stood
with him at the railway station bidding him farewell, it was the eyes
of the monarch that held incertitude and tears. It was the Tzar who was
shaken with the wish to undo what he had done, yet who lacked the
resolution."

For a little while the two men sat over their coffee, and even the
voluble animation of the Russian was stilled; then, as the talk drifted,
chance guided it to the topic of army caste.

"Generally speaking, we are officers or men by heredity--yet anything
can happen in Russia," declared Ivangoroff, "when a peasant monk can
gain a hold like Rasputin's at court!" He paused, then laughed. "I even
know of one man who came to the Grand Duke's headquarters in civilian
garb--who was not a Russian--who was unknown. He secured an audience,
and ten days later found him a member of the leader's personal staff--a
confidant of the Commander-in-Chief!"

Boone raised his brows. It occurred to him that this highly entertaining
companion might be more vivacious than authentic, and he murmured some
expression of interest.

"Read your dispatches," said the Russian. "Occasionally you will find
there the name of one General Makailoff. It is not a name you will have
seen in our army matters before this war. True, one could look at this
man and know that he was a soldier, yet he was a foreigner, and it was
at a time when spy-ridden Russia distrusted every one. He went into the
Commander-in-Chief's presence. He said something to the
Commander-in-Chief, which no one else heard. He came out an officer on
the staff."

With a sudden flash of deeper interest that made his words eager, Boone
bent across the table. "Tell me," he demanded, "what was his
appearance?"

"It interests you?" laughed Ivangoroff. "Naturally, because it has the
essence of drama, has it not? He is tall and spare, with a florid face
and gray temples. He is hard-bitten and leather-tanned, as a soldier
should be, and in his eye, a gray-blue eye, dwells a quality which one
does not find in common eyes."

"And when the Grand Duke went into hi