"For the present I am here, in Moscow; and my children are with me.--I
might have sent for you sooner, by note, Ivan. I _ought_, I suppose. But
I waited too long, and so came myself!" And she looked at him, her lips
smiling, her troubled eyes full of anxiety.

Even after all the years, Ivan read her well enough not to answer that
smile. Instead, he led her, scarcely protesting, into the dining-room;
despatched the amazed but delighted Piotr for fresh tea and something to
eat; and, when they were alone, sat for a moment lost in contemplation
of her, while she waited, wearily, for him to pick up the thread of
their talk.

Her appearance, charming to any other man, startled and momentarily
saddened Ivan. He marvelled, indeed, at the emotion roused in him by her
face: the face that he had pictured as forever changeless, but which, he
now perceived, time had dealt with more cruelly than with his own.
Madame Feodoreff was, indeed, a woman sufficiently beautiful,
sufficiently distinguished, to be looked at thrice in any assemblage.
Yet her every feature, the exquisite, pearly skin, most of all the once
sparkling, now deeply-seeing eyes, spoke of a long and difficult drama
of life.

These things passed through his mind as he gave his order and Piotr left
the room. For some moments more he was silent. Then, rousing himself,
almost unwillingly, from his contemplation, he spoke.

"You should be able to guess, Nathalie, how much your coming means: how
deeply it touches me. To think that you should still have
confidence!--How many years is it since the winter of your debut?"

Though he asked it lightly, he saw the shiver that ran over the woman at
his side. "We must not count years," she said, softly. "Indeed, Ivan,
now that I am here, I find it hard to explain my idea in coming.--I am
alone in Moscow--virtually hiding. And I can tell you very little of my
reason.--Still, you can guess, at least, that my marriage--has
been--unsuccessful.--I have my children. I adore them; yet I have left
their father, and so injured them forever.--That is about all I can tell
you.--Up--"

"Princess, I beg of you!--"

"No, let me finish, Ivan! Up to the time of my mother's death, I never
wholly realized the truth of affairs.--She managed, somehow, to shield
me.--During her last years, Ivan, she regretted my marriage more than
any act of her life.--Indeed, I think it was the one thoroughly cruel
thing she ever did.--Since she went, I have been