of the front door.
Before returning to Bilíbin’s Prince Andréy had gone to a bookshop to provide himself with some books for the campaign, and had spent some time in the shop.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, your excellency!” said Franz, with difficulty rolling the portmanteau into the vehicle, “we are to move on still farther. The scoundrel is again at our heels!”
“Eh? What?” asked Prince Andréy.
Bilíbin came out to meet him. His usually calm face showed excitement.
“There now! Confess that this is delightful,” said he. “This affair of the Thabor Bridge, at Vienna. … They have crossed without striking a blow!”
Prince Andréy could not understand.
“But where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the town knows?”
“I come from the archduchess’. I heard nothing there.”