The Baron looked as though he knew not whether to
feel satisfied or not.

"By the way," said the Count in a moment, "have
you written to the Baroness yet? Pardon me for
reminding you, but you must remember that your letters
will have to go out to Russia and back."

The Baron started.

"Teufel!" he exclaimed. "I most indeed write."

"The post goes at twelve."

The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved
to the writing-table and toyed with his pen. A few
minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked--

"Vat shall I say?"

"Tell her about your journey across Europe--how
the crops look in Russia--what you think of St. Petersburg--
that sort of thing."

A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the
Baron burst out

"Ach, I cannot write to-day! I cannot invent like
you. Ze crops--I have got zat--and zat I arrived safe
--and zat Petersburg is nice. Vat else?"