there are some
people who want the man--very much."

Etta drew in a long, deep breath.

"I will go to Osterno with you, if you like," she said. "Only--only I
must have Maggie with me."

"Yes, if you like," answered Paul, in some surprise.

The clock struck ten, and Etta's eyes recovered their brightness.
Womanlike, she lived for the present. The responsibility of the future
is essentially a man's affair. The present contained a ball, and it was
only in the future that Osterno and Russia had to be faced. Let us also
give Etta Alexis her due. She was almost fearless. It is permissible to
the bravest to be startled. She was now quite collected. The even,
delicate color had returned to her face.

"Maggie is such a splendid companion," she said lightly. "She is so easy
to please. I think she would come if you asked her, Paul."

"If you want her, I shall ask her, of course; but it may hinder us a
little. I thought you might be able to help us--with the women, you
know."

There was a queer little smile on Etta's face--a smile, one might have
thought, of contempt.

"Yes, of course," she said. "It is so nice to be able to do good with
one's money."

Paul looked at her in his slow, grave way, but he said nothing. He knew
that his wife was cleverer and brighter than himself. He was simple
enough to think that this superiority of intellect might be devoted to
the good of the peasants of Osterno.

"It is not a bad place," he said--"a very fine castle, one of the finest
in Europe. Before I came away I gave orders for your rooms to be done
up. I should like every thing to be nice for you."

"I know you would, dear," she answered, glancing at the clock. (The
carriage was ordered for a quarter-past ten.) "But I suppose," she went
on, "that, socially speaking, we shall be rather isolated. 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 Stepan Lanovitch."

Etta was looking at her husband with her bright smile. It was a little
too bright, perhaps. Her eyes had a gleam in them. She was conscious of
being beautifully dressed, conscious of her own matchless beauty, almost
dauntless, like a very strong man armed.

"Well, I think I am a model wife," she said: "to give in meekly