re to have
Moscow--our old Moscow--here again?"

Having with some little self-control waved aside the unusual rebuff of
Sophia's first words, Madame Dravikine listened to the last with a
smile, a trifle self-conscious; and in spite of her sister's look--a
stare that suggested coldness, the expression remained with her as she
answered: "Yes, at last you are safe, dear. You see--I am here from
Petersburg; though it has meant leaving Nathalie with her nurses, and
Alexis Vassilyitch to spend every night at the yacht-club at baccarat.
Besides, Moscow always bores his Majesty; and even the Czarevitch isn't
with him this time, you know."

"Caroline, I wish--" Madame Gregoriev's hesitating voice trailed into
silence. She knew that it was scarcely the hour for remonstrance of
that kind. After a moment she began again, "Do you remember how many
years it is since we were all at home together, in the Nijny Kislovsky?
I should hardly be able to name over the old families now. All the
leaders of our day--Madame Apukhtin, Princess Osinin, the
Dowager-Countess Parakoff--they are all dead. It is the wife of the
younger Smirnoff--Alexander married a dancer who cannot be received--who
keeps up the name. Eugen married Olga Lodoroff. She was a child when I
was married. She wouldn't remember me at all now. But we have had not
one excuse. They are all to come. Kasha, I am happy to-night! Think--"

"Of course, Sophie, they are coming. One would think you a parvenue,
absolutely, to hear you!" broke in Caroline, sharply, still smarting a
little at her reading of that unfinished sentence.

Sophia colored at her sister's appellation, but had no time for
rejoinder; for at this moment an inner door was pushed gently open and a
boy entered.

Sophia rose, hastily. "Ivan! You were asleep two hours ago!"

"But I woke up. And Masha said you were so splendid with the diamonds
all on, that I came to see." He looked up at his mother, his big, black
eyes shining with interest as he inspected her unusual array. His aunt,
sharper-eyed than her sister, perceived that, under his eider-down
wrapper, the boy wore no night-flannel, but a more or less complete suit
of day-clothes. She said nothing, however, for, though she had no love
for children, Ivan was quiet enough to have won her liking.

"Eh bien, mon fils, tu m'as vu. Allez vous en! Retournez immediatement
au lit. Tu vas prendre un rhume! Allez! Vite!" Laughing, she kissed the
boy--nor had far to sto