"Then, Tantine, she could see how I cow my peasants with a knout, and grind them to starvation. It would be an interesting picture for her to take back to England."
"I should enjoy all that immensely, of course," Tamara said, pleasantly. "Many thanks, Prince."
"I shall be so honored," and he bowed politely; then, turning to the
Princess: "You will settle it, won't you, Tantine?"
"I will look at our engagements, dear boy. We will try to arrange it. I can tell you at the ballet," and the Princess smiled encouragingly up at him. "My godchild has not seen our national dancing yet, so we go to-night with Prince Miklefski and Valonne."
"Then it is au revoir," he said, and kissing their hands he left them.
When the door was shut and they were alone.
"Tamara, what had you said to Gritzko to move him so?" the Princess asked. "I, who know every line of his face, tell you I have not seen him so moved since his mother's death."
So Tamara told her, describing the scene.
"My dear, you touched him in a tender spot," her godmother said. "His mother was a saint almost to those people at Milasláv; they worshipped her. She was very beautiful and very sweet, and after her husband's death she spent nearly all her life there. She started schools to teach the peasants useful things, and she encouraged them and cared for their health; and her great wish was that Gritzko should carry out her schemes. She was no advanced Liberal, the late Princess, but she had such a tender heart, she longed to bring happiness to those in her keeping, and teach them to find happiness themselves."
"And he has let it all slide, I suppose," Tamara said.