und the enclosure, large garden-seats, shaped like
sentry-boxes, were reserved for the mothers and sisters of the members
of the club, so that they could observe, from a comfortable shelter, the
evolutions of those in whom they were interested.

Within two of these nooks, side by side, sat the Duchesse de Montgeron,
president, and the Comtesse Desvanneaux, vice-president of the Charity
Orphan Asylum; the latter had come to look on at the first essay on the
ice of her daughter, Madame de Thomery; the former, to judge the skill
of her brother, General the Marquis de Prerolles, past-master in all
exercises of strength and skill.

At forty-five years of age, the young General had preserved the same
grace and slenderness that had distinguished him when he had first
donned the elegant tunic of an officer of chasseuys. His hair, cut
rather short, had become slightly gray on his temples, but his jaunty
moustache and well-trimmed beard were as yet innocent of a single silver
thread. The same energy shone in his eyes, the same sonority rang in his
voice, which had become slightly more brusque and authoritative from his
long-continued habit of command.

In a small round hat, with his hands in the pockets of an outing-jacket,
matching his knickerbockers in color, he strolled to and fro near his
sister, now encouraging Madame de Thomery, hesitating on the arm of her
instructor, now describing scientific flourishes on the ice, in rivalry
against the crosses dashed off by Madame de Lisieux and Madame de
Nointel--two other patronesses of the orphanage--the most renowned among
all the fashionable skaters. This sort of tourney naturally attracted
all eyes, and the idlers along the outer walks had climbed upon the
paling in order to gain a better view of the evolutions, when suddenly a
spectacle of another kind called their attention to the entrance-gate in
their rear.

Passing through the Porte Dauphine, and driven by a young woman
enveloped in furs, advanced swiftly, over the crisp snow, a light
American sleigh, to which was harnessed a magnificent trotter, whose
head and shoulders emerged, as from an aureole, through that flexible,
circular ornament which the Russians call the 'douga'.

Having passed the last turn of the path, the driver slackened her grasp,
and the horse stopped short before the entrance. His owner, throwing the
reins to a groom perched up behind, sprang lightly to the ground amid a
crowd of curious observers, wh