“My dear child!” exclaimed the countess, “he attends all the noble ladies of Petersburg.”
“Precisely,” answered Catrina.
She was woman enough to enter into futile arguments with her mother, and man enough to despise herself for doing it.
“Why do you want to go back to Thors so soon?” murmured the elder lady, with a little sigh of despair. She knew she was playing a losing game very badly. She was mentally shuddering at the recollection of former sleigh-journeying from Tver to Thors.
“Because I am sure father would like us to be there this hard winter.”
“But your father is in Siberia,” put in the countess, which remark was ignored.
“Because if we do not go before the snow begins to melt we shall have to do the journey in carriages over bad roads, which is sure to knock you up. Because our place is at Thors, and no one wants us here. I hate Petersburg. It is no use living here unless one is rich and beautiful and popular. We are none of those things, so we are better at Thors.”
“But we have many nice friends here, dear. You will see, this afternoon. I expect quite a reception. By the way, I hope Kupfer has sent the little cakes. Your father used to be so fond of them. I wonder if we could send him a box to Siberia. He would enjoy them, poor man! He might give some to the prison people, and thus obtain a little alleviation. Yes; the Comte de Chauxville said he would come on my first reception-day, and, of course, Paul and his wife must return my call. They will come to-day. I am anxious to see her. They say she is beautiful and dresses well.”
Catrina’s broad white teeth gleamed for a moment in the flickering firelight, as she clenched them over her lower lip.
“And therefore Paul’s happiness in life is assured,” she said, in a hard voice.