"You know the rest, Philip; I have kept nothing back, and I think when you remember the severity of her punishment, the bitterness of her suffering, the humiliation of her spirit, you will forgive her. She loves you, Philip; it is from her very love that all this misery has fallen upon her. Will you leave her to bear it alone, or will you go to her? Ah, Philip, no one has ever had a braver opportunity for carrying out the old, old precept; the legacy left to us by One whose mercy and forbearance knew no bounds, and who said, forgive, even if it be until 'seventy times seven.'"
CHAPTER XV.
VLADIMIR'S WELCOME.
It was winter once more, and the gay Russian capital had returned to its round of festivities and merry-makings.
The Imperial family were in residence at the Winter Palace, and the long salon resounded nightly to the laughter and jests of the Court circle. Not a cloud apparently marred the harmony and well-being of Petersburg.
All without was bright and brilliant; the sun shone on the dazzling snow, the merry sleigh-bells rang out on the frosty air, and the Nevski arcades were thronged with richly-dressed mondaines, who laughed and chatted, and tossed over the costly trifles in the Circassian shop with careless fingers. Within were ease and comfort and luxury; huge fires of keen-scented woods, heavy draperies to shut out the shrewd air, and respectful attendants to minister to the most wilful caprice.
But beyond and below all this brave assumption of security, there lay hidden a terrible passionate hate. Slowly, slowly, the patient masses of that under world had wakened to the consciousness of their wrongs, and with the bitter knowledge of contrast came the thirst for compensation; the burning desire to throw off the hand that had so long oppressed them, the yoke that had galled for centuries.
"What maketh us to differ?" was the cry of thousands; and, with the wording of the dumb misery that had held them silent so long, there awoke also the craving for vengeance. "How long," went up the cry to heaven, "how long, O Lord, shall the wicked oppress us?" And in the pause that ensued between petition and answer, pleasure was stalked by blood-red fear, and distrust kept pace with merriment.
The Countess Vera had opened the season by a grand bal costumé, in the huge palace of her name. It was the maddest of all the little Countess's mad freaks, for her guests were to come attired as beasts of the forest, the chase, and the field. Grizzlies from the Rockies elbowed white lambs, elephants and camelopards hob-nobbed with pussy-cats and fawns, while tigers and wolves flirted tentatively with rabbits and red squirrels.