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I looked round, a confused effort at memory passing across my mind; my eyes fell at the instant upon the embroidered sleeve of the domino, where a rosebud worked in silver at once reminded me of Catrina's secret. "Ah," thought I, "La Senhora herself!"
"I! Oh, I have nothing to tell you. I am a nun. What can one do what can one hear in Petersburg? Now in Paris it is different. But Catrina is so firm. Have you ever noticed that, Steinmetz? Catrina's firmness, I mean. She wills a thing, and her will is like a rock. The thing has to be done. It does itself. It comes to pass. Some people are so. Now I, my clear Steinmetz, only desire peace and quiet. So I give in. I gave in to poor Stépan. And now he is exiled. Perhaps if I had been firm if I had forbidden all this nonsense about charity it would have been different. And Stépan would have been quietly at home instead of in Tomsk, is it, or Tobolsk? I always forget which. Well, Catrina says we must live in Petersburg this winter, and nous voil
The color left Catrina's face quite suddenly, as if wiped away, leaving her ghastly. She was going to see Paul and his wife. Presently the door opened, and Etta came into the room with the indomitable assurance which characterized her movements and earned for her a host of feminine enemies.
A second door led to the little music-room which Catrina had made her own, and beyond was her bedroom. Maggie had assured her hostess that she had every thing that she could wish, and that she did not desire the services of Catrina's maid. But the Russian girl still lingered. She was slow to make friends not shy, but diffident and suspicious.
Catrina's broad white teeth gleamed for a moment in the flickering firelight, as she clenched them over her lower lip. "And therefore Paul's happiness in life is assured," she said, in a hard voice. "Of course. What more could he want?" murmured the countess, in blissful ignorance of any irony. Catrina looked at her mother with a gleam of utter contempt in her eyes.
"Yes," answered the countess; "but Catrina is only twenty-four ten years younger than Paul." "Indeed!" with a faint, cutting surprise. Indeed Etta looked younger than Catrina. On a l'âge de son coeur, and if the heart be worn it transmits its weariness to the face, where such signs are ascribed to years. So the little stab was justified by Catrina's appearance.
There was another chair by the fire, inviting Catrina to indulge in those maiden confidences which attach themselves to slippers and hair-brushings. Maggie looked up with a smile which slowly ebbed away. Catrina's remark was of the nature of a defiance. Her half-diffident rôle of hostess was suddenly laid aside. "No; she does not," answered the English girl.
Catrina's speech was ever abrupt. At first Maggie did not understand. "Yes, thanks," she answered. "I am very tired. I suppose it is the snow." "Yes," said Catrina mechanically; "it is the snow." She went toward the door, and there she paused. "Does Paul love her?" she asked abruptly. Maggie made no answer; and, as was her habit, Catrina replied to her own question.
It would appear that he was wondering how he could gracefully get away from the princess to pay his devoirs elsewhere. "I cannot tell you now," he answered; "Catrina is watching us across the piano. You must beware, madame, of those cold blue eyes." He moved away, going toward the piano, where Maggie was standing behind Catrina's chair.
De Chauxville assumed this air with a skill against which Catrina's dogged strength of character was incapable of battling. His manner conveyed the impression that he knew more of Catrina's inward thoughts than any other living being, and she was simple enough to be frightened into the conclusion that she had betrayed herself to him.
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