se simple folk
knew more than their lady of the usual details of their master's orgies;
and the thought of Ivan's participation in the simplest of them was as
horrifying to these slaves as to the gentle lady they served. But the
bold proposition came at last to nothing. For which of these lame dogs
was to beard the lion in his lair?

Wednesday and most of Thursday passed, for mother and son, in a
fluctuating succession of every mood known to their respective natures.
Finally, on the afternoon of his birthday, Ivan, furious at the
indignity, was forced into an hour or two of preparatory rest. But so
restless had been his recent nights that his very protests drifted
presently into sound unconsciousness, and he only awoke at candle-light,
to find Piotr bending over him, and his promised suit, gorgeous even
beyond expectation, lying at hand. And here Michael showed a touch of
his wonderful knowledge of human weakness; for that suit played havoc
with Ivan. There was courage to be found in the crimson cloth, interest
in the gold embroidery, ardent curiosity in the gleaming boots, an
almost swagger in the empty sword-belt. Truly, his Highness had
calculated well. By the appointed hour, Ivan was aflame. Once dressed,
he relinquished the idea of going to his mother for a parting kiss. He
felt, instead, that his "manhood" had already come upon him, and that
kisses were for children. Still, it was a relief to find that, had he
wished it, his half-promised visit would not have been feasible; for,
ere the last buckle was fastened, Sosha had come to escort his young
Prince, with due ceremony, in his first descent into the traditional
hell of his fathers.

Ivan was too little of his own blood, a youth too habitually and
instinctively pure-minded, to comprehend, in the first glance, that
supper scene, and gain therefrom life-long disillusionment. For him,
even after he had left it, there remained in some sort a glamour over it
all--the softening veil of lights and laughter, the gleam of plate and
the perfume of flowers, which successfully hid the blackest ugliness.
The first fresh frost was still upon his glass; and through it the
golden wine was beautiful as it could not be for those about him, who
saw, as it were, through tepid crystal, a flat and nauseous vintage
hardly to be borne even for the faint quickening of the blood still to
be obtained from it. But with Ivan it was as his mother had hoped. She
still sheathed him as in a c