een quietly at home instead of in Tomsk, is it,
or Tobolsk? I always forget which. Well, Catrina says we must live in
Petersburg this winter, and--nous voila!"

Steinmetz shrugged his shoulders with a commiserating smile. He took the
countess's troubles indifferently, as do the rest of us when our
neighbor's burden does not drag upon our own shoulders. It suited him
that Catrina should be in Petersburg, and it is to be feared that the
feelings of the Countess Lanovitch had no weight as against the
convenience of Karl Steinmetz.

"Ah, well!" he said, "you must console yourself with the thought that
Petersburg is the brighter for some of us. Who is this--another
visitor?"

The door was thrown open, and Claude de Chauxville walked into the room
with the easy grace which was his.

"Mme. la Comtesse," he said, bowing over her hand.

Then he stood upright, and the two men smiled grimly at each other.
Steinmetz had thought that De Chauxville was in London. The Frenchman
counted on the other's duties to retain him in Osterno.

"Pleasure!" said De Chauxville, shaking hands.

"It is mine," answered Steinmetz.

The countess looked from one to the other with a smile on her foolish
face.

"Ah!" she exclaimed; "how pleasant it is to meet old friends! It is like
by-gone times."

At this moment the door opened again and Catrina came in. In her rich
furs she looked almost pretty.

She shook hands eagerly with Steinmetz; her deep eyes searched his face
with a singular, breathless scrutiny.

"Where are you from?" she asked quickly.

"London."

"Catrina," broke in the countess, "you do not remember M. de Chauxville!
He nursed you when you were a child."

Catrina turned and bowed to De Chauxville.

"I should have remembered you," he said, "if we had met accidentally.
After all, childhood is but a miniature--is it not so?"

"Perhaps," answered Catrina; "and when the miniature develops it loses
the delicacy which was its chief charm."

She turned again to Steinmetz, as if desirous of continuing her
conversation with him.

"M. de Chauxville, you surely have news?" broke in the countess's
cackling voice. "I have begged M. Steinmetz in vain. He says he has
none; but is one to believe so notorious a bad character?"

"Madame, it is wise to believe only that which is convenient. But
Steinmetz, I promise you, is the soul of honor. What sort of news do you
crave for? Political, which is dangerous; social, which is scandalou