s
the building and into the presence of his father.

Michael received his son in his public office: a room which, to the boy,
appeared a fitting frame for the figure of the Prince, magnificent in
gold-embroidered uniform; booted, spurred, fiery-eyed and
fierce-mustached, but for all that showing a softened light in his face
as he perceived his son.

Piotr was promptly dismissed, and Ivan seated at the huge table whence
he could gaze at the burly figure opposite him as long as his eyes had
courage to look up. Nevertheless the pause was uncomfortable enough; and
the boy was glad when the silence ended.

"Ivan! you're now at the age at which I entered my first battle--as
drummer-boy--and had--Hm! my first love-affair. Are you in love?"

Ivan's velvet eyes lifted themselves slowly to the glittering orbs set
in the dark face. No word passed the young lips, but Michael read,
plainly enough, the wondering displeasure in the boyish face. Slightly
amused, he went on, relentlessly:

"This week, you're fourteen: a man, in short. Now, what have you done
that men can do?"

A fiery reply flew suddenly to the boy's lips; but there it stuck. He
could not speak to this man of his mother. Again he chose silence for
his answer.

"Nothing? You don't speak? Bah!" Michael brought his fist down upon the
table, till everything in the room danced. "Bah! It's a girl I've got! A
ninny. A milk-sop.--I thought so! Your lips--your cheeks--_you_--a
Gregoriev!" But the glittering eyes, striving to fathom those others,
were caught in a sudden quiet depth, wavered for an instant, and--were
lowered! Then Michael sat in a frown, elbows on the table, his chin on
his hand, thinking. Ivan, meantime, this little feat accomplished, sat
waiting, uneasily, for a decision or--a dismissal. He waited for some
time; but the end was worth it--perhaps. When his father spoke again,
his tone was serious:

"Well, I shall try you, after all. Here, on Thursday--your birthday,
mind! you shall meet life. I'll give you a supper, an early one, at ten
o'clock. Tell your mother about that from me. But Piotr will come to
dress you. I'll have no baby about. He'll bring the suit I command you
to wear; and--we'll see.

"Tell your mother, Ivan, that at last--on the seventh of this month, her
rule ends. The last Gregoriev becomes a man--or else--he leaves the
Gregoriev house! Do you hear? Prepare yourself, then, and--go!"

So, without another look, Michael caught his cloa