“You are making yourself at home!” sneered Laurence as soon as the door had closed again.
“That’s precisely what I came for!” replied Tatiana. “And so should you—if I may continue to advise—seeing that this is your own hearth and fireside, after being mine for fifteen years—the age at which I had the luck to marry my dear Jean-sans-peur.”
“It’s a long time ago?”
Tatiana got to her feet without any haste. “So it is,” she admitted. “Our first-born is twenty already, which makes me exactly thirty-seven. A ripening time; but what matters? We Palitzins are said to improve with years, like good wine; which is a mercy, my temper not being always of the sweetest! I trust I have controlled it satisfactorily during this charming hour, my dear, but if perchance I did hurt your feelings I am heartily sorry for it. Lie down now and go to sleep for a few hours; it will refresh you immensely; and trust me to attend to everything needful.” With which valediction she left the room, before Laurence had a chance to recommence hostilities.
CHAPTER XIV
Your secret thought, or foul or fair,
Thrills in the currents of the air,
And oft may breathe in careless play
From lips unwitting what they say.
Basil, watching by his godmother’s bedside when not employed in replacing her as owner and personal manager of one of the greatest estates in northern Russia, felt a constant presentiment of evil things to come. He could not have explained this sensation had he been asked to do so, but nevertheless it was quite strong enough to oppress him almost continually by day and night.
Vera-Nikoláievna, Countess Lanièvitch, had in her day been a celebrated beauty, but this circumstance had never succeeded in spoiling the remarkably clever and high-minded woman she was. Her husband had fallen at the head of his regiment during the Russo-Japanese war, in the course of which her four sons, two in the cavalry and two in the navy, had also heroically yielded up their lives. Left alone and desolate, the Great Lady had turned all that remained of tenderness in her nature to Basil-Vassilièvitch Palitzin, who she claimed was all that was left in the world for her to care about, and had made little Piotr her heir, with that fitness of things which invariably brings more water to an already overflowing river. She had met Laurence but twice—once at her own place, where Basil had brought his bride to be presented, the second time at Petersburg, and the experienced woman of the world had immediately formed the worst possible opinion of her beloved godson’s marriage. Nor had Laurence done anything to conciliate her husband’s aged relative. Stubborn, with that peculiarly impenetrable stubbornness that one can but call pig-headed, having once made up her mind that she would hate—and continue to hate—every single thing or person connected with Russia and her new life, she had ignored the kindly advances of Countess Lanièvitch, remaining from the first strictly polite and no more, which had both surprised and hurt the Dowager. Her health, always delicate since her great sorrows, had now finally given way, and Basil, filled with the greatest apprehensions, at last summoned the Court physician all the way from Petersburg to look deeper into the case. The great man came, and pronounced a far from reassuring verdict. The patient might or might not linger for another year. That there was no immediate danger he was willing to assert, but this was all, for the Countess suffered from heart trouble, and, moreover, complete discouragement—a very grave symptom in a person of her energetic nature—seemed to have overtaken her.
After his departure Basil had a long talk with his godmother, who urged him to go back to his family, for she was the most unselfish of women; but Basil could not make up his mind to leave her until she had at least regained some semblance of strength. It was then that Tatiana’s message concerning the late events at Tverna arrived. She had softened the facts, and put as little responsibility upon Laurence as was compatible with truth; but Basil, nevertheless, saw clearly that his immediate return was imperative, and, avoiding to alarm his kinswoman by a detailed account of the affair, spoke of trouble with the peasants, and after arranging everything for her comparative comfort and ease of mind left her with much regret.
He had to spend some hours in Petersburg on his way home, and preferring his club to his unprepared palace on the Nèwsky, all swathed in silence, cold, and brown holland, he repaired thither on leaving the train.