THE FLIGHT FROM ZOSTROV
At dinner I heard that the Grand Duke was indisposed, and was dining alone, instead, as usual, with the Count Stravensky, Commandant of the Castle—by courtesy the chief member of his suite, but in reality his custodian—and two or three other officers of high birth, who, with their wives, formed as it were, the inner circle of this small Court in the wilderness. There were a good many ladies in residence,—the great castle was like a world in little,—but I scarcely saw any of them, as I preferred to keep to the safe seclusion of the officers’ mess, when I was not in my own room; and there was, of course, no lack of bachelors much more attractive than myself. I gathered from Grodwitz and others that they managed to enliven their exile with plenty of flirtations,—and squabbles.
On this evening the Countess Stravensky was holding a reception in her apartments, with dancing and music; and all my usual after-dinner companions were attending it.
“Better come, mon ami,” urged Grodwitz. “You are not invited? Nonsense; I tell you it is an informal affair, and it is quite time you were presented to the Countess.”
“I’d feel like a fish out of water,” I protested. “I’m not used to smart society.”
“Smart! Ma foi, there is not much smartness about us in this deadly hole! But have it your own way. You are as austere as our Grand Duke himself; though you have not his excuse!” he retorted, laughing.
“What excuse?”
“You have not heard?” he asked quizzically; and rattled out a version of the gossip that was rife concerning Anne and Loris.
“The charitable declare that there is a morganatic marriage,” he asserted. “They are probably right; for, I give you my word, he is a sentimental fool, our good Loris. Voilà, a bit of treason for the ears of your friend Mishka, hein?”