mantel-piece. She arranged without enthusiasm her straggling hair, and
put straight a lace cap which was chronically crooked. She looked at her
reflection pessimistically, as well she might. It was the puffy red face
of a middle-aged woman given to petty self-indulgence.

"While she was engaged in this discouraging pastime the door was opened,
and a maid came in with the air of one who has gained a trifling
advantage by the simple method of peeping.

"It is M. Steinmetz, Mme. la Comtesse."

"Ah! Do I look horrible, Celestine? I have been asleep."

Celestine was French, and laughed with all the charm of that tactful
nation.

"How can Mme. la Comtesse ask such a thing? Madame might be
thirty-five!"

It is to be supposed that the staff of angelic recorders have a separate
set of ledgers for French people, with special discounts attaching to
pleasant lies.

Madame shook her head--and believed.

"M. Steinmetz is even now taking off his furs in the hall," said
Celestine, retiring toward the door.

"It is well. We shall want tea."

Steinmetz came into the room with an exaggerated bow and a twinkle in
his melancholy eyes.

"Figure to yourself, my dear Steinmetz," said the countess vivaciously.
"Catrina has gone out--on a day like this! Mon Dieu! How gray, how
melancholy!"

"Without, yes! But here, how different!" replied Steinmetz in French.

The countess cackled and pointed to a chair.

"Ah! you always flatter. What news have you, bad character?"

Steinmetz smiled pensively, not so much suggesting the desire to impart
as the intention to withhold that which the lady called news.

"I came for yours, countess. You are always amusing--as well as
beautiful," he added, with his mouth well controlled beneath the heavy
mustache.

The countess shook her head playfully, which had the effect of tilting
her cap to one side.

"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 Stepan. 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 Stepan would have b