"One is permitted always to speak one's mind in this age of enlightenment," she replied, carelessly, though the meaning of Ivor's question had not escaped her.
"And what news do you bring with you?" she continued, a little hurriedly. "One is bored to extinction here, kept so late in town, and with such a dearth of novelty that counting flies upon the wall becomes an exciting pastime."
She had walked on as she spoke, separating herself from the Countess Vera by a slight farewell gesture; Ivor kept pace at her side. When they drew near one of the deep embrasured windows she stopped, and motioned Ivor to the low cushioned seat beneath. But he refused to avail himself of her invitation, preferring to stand at her side and look down upon her. She sank languidly back upon the velvet cushions.
In the music gallery, at one end of the great salon, the Household band were playing an arrangement of some of the wild, sad, national airs. The strains floated to them across the rippling current of light laughter and gay voices, like the under-chord of melancholy that runs always side by side with the happier melodies of life's theme.
Ivor was the first to speak, and, as he did so, Olga turned her head somewhat away from him.
"You ask me for news, mademoiselle; that is, indeed, somewhat singular. How can I bring you news from my wild province which should prove of interest to you? Let me rather ask that question. What do you hear from Count Mellikoff, mademoiselle, and how prospers his mission?"
She did not reply at once, and Tolskoi, watching her averted face, saw the jewels on her bosom rise with a sudden, quick, indrawn breath.
When she spoke it was with an almost exaggerated assumption of carelessness.
"I hear nothing of, or from Count Mellikoff." Then, after a moment's pause, "Are you more fortunate?"
"If you like to call it so. My latest intelligence is to the effect, that having been successful beyond his expectations, he looks forward to an immediate return, and to the reward he feels he has fairly earned."