As most people know, the Russian New Year time is kept up with great festivity; and, hospitable though he was at all times, the Count, if possible, excelled himself on this occasion, and those who were privileged to be present went away with a feeling that they might have travelled the wide world over without meeting with such princely entertainment so delicately and gracefully dispensed. Host, hostess, and the host’s daughters were always voted perfect, and very lavish praise was uttered when Mrs. Sherard Wilson was referred to, the English people particularly, who had the entrée to the Count’s rooms during the festive gatherings, expressing their admiration in no measured terms.
At last the series of New Year receptions and entertainments came to an end, and there was a lull, which was taken advantage of by the Misses Obolensk to make their arrangements for a forthcoming ball, which they intended to give on a grand scale. The organizing of this ball was left entirely to the young ladies, as Mrs. Sherard Wilson was on the eve of departure on a journey to the Continent. The Count never concerned himself about his domestic or social arrangements; he left everything to the ladies. He was a great reader, and he wrote a good deal. Such exercise as he took he got either in his carriage or on horseback. He did not visit much, but was passionately fond of music, and went to all the principal concerts, and occasionally attended the theatres. His was a routine life; he was very regular in his habits, and one day was much like another with him. His position in every way seemed an enviable one, and apparently he lived in amity with all men. All those who knew him respected and honoured him.
About a fortnight after the gathering of Russians at his house to celebrate the New Year’s Eve, Miss Nathalia Obolensk was descending the main stairway in a white satin evening dress, with a magnificent red camellia in her hair, for she was going to a grand concert with her father, and the carriage was waiting at the door. Coming after her was a liveried man-servant bearing a large tray full of tea-things, including a kettle of hot water, a silver teapot with the remains of the tea in it, a large jug of cream, and other things, that he had just brought from the drawing-room. He was a stolid, stupid-looking man, and suddenly he justified his looks by stumbling and scattering the contents of the tray over the young lady, tea, hot water, jelly, being poured over her splendid dress, to its ruin. She uttered a shrill cry of alarm, which quickly brought her father, Mrs. Wilson, and some of the other servants into the hall, and a very dramatic scene ensued. The shock to her nerves, and the realization that the mishap had not only spoilt her pretty frock, but would prevent her going to the concert, had such an effect upon Nathalia that she flew down the few remaining stairs, flung her arms about her father’s neck, and fainted.
In the meantime the author of the mischief presented a very sorry spectacle. He seemed thoroughly ashamed of himself, and undecided whether to bolt at once or gather up the wreckage. Nor was his confusion and distress lessened by the torrent of abuse and passionate scolding which fell from Mrs. Sherard Wilson’s lips. In the choicest of Russian she told him he was a ‘dolt,’ an ‘idiot,’ a ‘fool,’ a ‘brute beast.’
‘Leave the things, you stupid!’ she exclaimed fierily. ‘Ever since you entered the house, you have done nothing but make mistakes and smash things up. But it’s the last chance you’ll have of doing mischief here. In ten minutes you’ll be out. Do you mark what I say? Ten minutes only, and if you are not out of the house, then the other servants shall kick you out.’
‘If you please, my lady,’ whined the man, ‘I am entitled to a month’s notice or a month’s wages.’
‘You will get neither, you blockhead!’ replied the lady. ‘Why, your month’s wages won’t pay for the things you’ve broken. And what business had you coming down the main staircase. It was your place to use the servants’ staircase.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ moaned Andrey, ‘and beg your pardon——’
‘Sorry, you wretch! well you may be!’ exclaimed the irate lady, unappeased by the culprit’s penitence; ‘but get out of my sight, and in ten minutes you must have left the house. Paul’—this to the head-butler—‘Paul, I charge you to see the fellow is off the premises in ten minutes.’
With this peremptory command, she hastened to the reception-room, whither the Count had had his daughter conveyed. He was much annoyed, but did not allow his annoyance to find expression, as Mrs. Wilson did.