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It seems that the good God has still a little work for Stépan Lanovitch to do. I got away quite easily, in the usual way, through a paid Evasion Agency. I have been forwarded from pillar to post like a prize fowl, and reached Petersburg last night. I have not long to stay. I am going south. I may be able to do some good yet. I hear that Paul is working wonders in Tver."
"Is your husband dead, then?" asked Etta in a low voice, with a strange haste. "No; he is only in Siberia. You have perhaps heard of his misfortune Count Stépan Lanovitch." Etta nodded her head with the deepest sympathy. "I feel for you, countess," she said. "And yet you are so brave and mademoiselle," she said, turning to Catrina. "I hope we shall see more of each other in Tver."
"Vassili bought them," he said; "I can guess that." "You guess right," returned Lanovitch quietly. Steinmetz sat down. He looked round as if wondering whether the room was very hot. Then with a large handkerchief he wiped his brow. "You have surprised me," he admitted. "There are complications. I shall sit up all night with your news, my dear Stépan. Have you details? Wonderful wonderful!
"Mme. la Comtesse," she said, with her most gracious smile, taking the limp hand offered to her by the Countess Lanovitch. Catrina stood in the embrasure of the window, hating her. Paul followed on his wife's heels, scarcely concealing his boredom. He was not a society man.
Our neighbors are few and far between." "The nearest," said Paul quietly, "are the Lanovitches." "Who?" "The Lanovitches. Do you know them?" "Of course not," answered Etta sharply. "But I seem to know the name. Were there any in St. Petersburg?" "The same people," answered Paul; "Count Stépan Lanovitch." Etta was looking at her husband with her bright smile. It was a little too bright, perhaps.
"Yes, I see; though I confess I sometimes forget what the deuce I am supposed to be." Steinmetz laughed pleasantly as he folded the letter. He rose and went to the door. "I will send it off," he said. He paused on the threshold and looked back gravely. "Do not forget," he added, "that Catrina Lanovitch loves you."
Catrina Lanovitch had this trick. She only played a Russian people-song a simple lay such as one may hear issuing from the door of any kabak on a summer evening. But she infused a true Russian soul into it the soul that is cursed with a fatal power of dumb and patient endurance. She did not sway from side to side as do some people who lose themselves in the intoxication of music.
Whenever Osterno had cholera it sent it down the river to Thors, and so on to the Volga. Thors lay groaning under the scourge, and the Countess Lanovitch shut herself within her stone walls, shivering with fear, begging her daughter to return to Petersburg.
"Then the good God must have made me in the dark," cried Catrina, flinging out of the room. "She will be down directly," said the Countess Lanovitch to De Chauxville, whom she found smoking a cigarette in the hall. "She naturally he! he! wishes to make a careful toilet." De Chauxville bowed gravely, without committing himself to any observation, and offered her a cigarette, which she accepted.
"Have you seen any one?" she whispered. "Only De Chauxville," he answered, "this afternoon." "Indeed, Paul," she protested hastily, "it was nothing. A message from Catrina Lanovitch. It was only the usual visit of an acquaintance. It would have been very strange if he had not called. Do you think I could care for a man like that?" "I never did think so until now," returned Paul steadily.
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