The Strand Magazine, Vol. 1 - No. 1,

third an enormous lace cap, with flaming ribbons. The Countess had no longer the slightest pretence to beauty, but she preserved all the habits of her youth. She dressed in the styl

he entered the dressing-room. "Good morning, Mademoise

is it,

my friends, and to ask you to giv

oduce him to me there. Did you

ced until five o'clock in the morning

eauty, you should have seen her grandmother, the Princess Daria

ed Tomski thoughtlessly; "

it was an understood thing to conceal from the Princess the death of any of her contemporaries. He bit his lips

esented, the Empress"-and the old Countess related for the hundredth time an anecdote of her young da

behind a great screen to finish her toile

ou wish to introduce to

f. Do you

he in th

es

e Engi

s. Why did you think he

smiled, but m

n, "send me a new novel; no matter what. Only se

ould you like

nor his mother, and in which no one gets drowned. Noth

o find you such a book? D

ian? However, send me somethi

y. Good-bye, Lisabeta. What made you fancy Naroumoff

t, at the corner of a neighbouring house, appeared a young officer. The sight of him made the companion blush to her

ve the horses put in; we

chair, and began to a

ou deaf? Go and tell them t

young lady, as she went

inging some books from Pr

him. Lisabeta! Lisabeta!

going t

dear. Sit down, take the f

ok the book and

r with you? Have you a cold? Wait a moment, bri

d two pages

onsense! Send it back to Prince Paul, and tell him I am m

lied Lisabeta, go

. Why do you always keep me

o minutes when the Countess rang with all her might. Her

ring," she cried. "Go and tell Li

red, wearing a new walking d

t you have got on? and why? For whom are you dressing

" said the valet; "it

ightful wind, and as icy as can be. Unharness the horses. Lisabeta, my chil

e!" said the comp

ND LIS

ve to everyone his or her proper name. Her innumerable servants, growing pale and fat in the ante-chamber, did absolutely as they liked, so that the house was pillaged as if its owner were really dead. Lisabeta passed her life in continual torture. If she made tea she was reproached with wasting the sugar. If she read a novel to the Countess she was held responsible for all the absurdities of the author. If she went out with the noble lady for a walk or drive, it was she who was to blame if the weather was bad or the pavement muddy. Her salary, more than modest, was never punctually paid, and she was expected to dress "like everyone else"; that is to say, like very few people indeed. When she went into society her position was sad. Everyone knew her; no one paid her any attention. At a ball she sometimes danced, but only when a vis-à-

SHE SHE

her head, and applied herself to her work more attentively than ever. Five minutes afterwards she looked mechanically into the street, and the officer was still in the same place. Not being in the habit of exchanging glances with young men who passed by her window, she remained with her eyes fixed on her work for nearly two

w him once more, standing straight before the door. His face was half concealed by a fur collar, but his black eyes spar

bitual place, with his eyes fixed ardently upon her. She at once withdrew, burning at the same t

was established between them. Sitting at her work she felt his presence, and when she raised her head she

den redness covered the officer's pale cheeks as soon as their eyes me

f the poor young girl beat strongly, and when she heard that it was Naroumoff, she bitter

independence, he had made it a principle not to touch his private income. He lived on his pay, and did not allow himself the slighte

er by temperament, he never touched a card, feeling, as he himself said, that his position did not allow him to "risk the necessary in view of the superfluous." Yet he would pass entire nights before

t presented to her, that I may pay my court and gain her confidence. Yes! And she is eighty-seven! She may die this week-to-morrow perhaps. But after all, is there a word of truth in t

passed one by one before the old house, now brilliantly illuminated. As the people stepped out of the carriages Hermann saw now the little feet of a young woman, now

lives here?" he said t

Fedotovna." It was

table, and heaps of roubles and bank-notes. He saw himself doubling stake after stake, always winning, and then filling his pockets with piles of coin, and stuffing his pocket-book with countless bank-notes. When he awoke, he sighed to find that his treasures were but creations of a disordered fancy; and, to drive such thoughts from him, he went out for a walk. But

AW THE LI

nt decide