and then cast them at our heads."

The doors of the great room had now been thrown open, and the passengers
were passing slowly out to the long, deserted platform. It was almost
daylight now, and the train was drawn up in readiness to start, with a
fresh engine and new officials. The homeliness of Germany had vanished,
giving place to that subtle sense of discomfort and melancholy which
hangs in the air from the Baltic to the Pacific coast.

"I hope you will stay a long time in Warsaw," said Martin, as they
walked up the platform. "My father and sister will be coming home before
long, and will be glad to see you. We will do what we can to make the
place tolerable for you. We live in the Kotzebue, and I have a horse for
you when you want it. You know we have good horses in Warsaw, as good as
any. And the only way to see the country is from the saddle. We have the
best horses and the worst roads."

"Thanks, very much," replied Cartoner. "I, of course, do not know how
long I shall stay. I am not my own master, you understand. I never know
from one day to another what my movements may be."

"No," replied Martin, in the absent tone of one who only half hears.
"No, of course not. By-the-way, we have the races coming on. I hope you
will be here for them. In our small way, it is the season in Warsaw
now. But, of course, there are difficulties--even the races present
difficulties--there is the military element."

He paused and indicated with a short nod the Russian officer who was
passing to his carriage in front of them.