Page 292 - tender-is-the-night

‘I see you are regarding our clothes,’ said the Prince. ‘We
have just come out of Russia.’
‘These were made in Poland by the court tailor,’ said
Tommy. ‘That’s a fact—Pilsudski’s own tailor.’
‘You’ve been touring?’ Dick asked.
They laughed, the Prince inordinately meanwhile clap-
ping Tommy on the back.
‘Yes, we have been touring. That’s it, touring. We have
made the grand Tour of all the Russias. In state.’
Dick waited for an explanation. It came from Mr. McKib-
ben in two words.
‘They escaped.’
‘Have you been prisoners in Russia?’
‘It was I,’ explained Prince Chillicheff, his dead yellow
eyes staring at Dick. ‘Not a prisoner but in hiding.’
‘Did you have much trouble getting out?’
‘Some trouble. We left three Red Guards dead at the
border. Tommy left two—‘ He held up two fingers like a
Frenchman—‘I left one.’
‘That’s the part I don’t understand,’ said Mr. McKibben.
‘Why they should have objected to your leaving.’
Hannan turned from the piano and said, winking at the
others: ‘Mac thinks a Marxian is somebody who went to St.
Mark’s school.’
It was an escape story in the best tradition—an aristocrat
hiding nine years with a former servant and working in a
government bakery; the eighteen-year-old daughter in Par-
is who knew Tommy Barban... . During the narrative Dick
decided that this parched papier mâché relic of the past was

292 Tender is the Night