morrow, if you care to leave the hunt
early."

De Chauxville bowed.

CHAPTER XXIX

ANGLO-RUSSIAN

At bedtime Catrina went to Maggie's room with her to see that she had
all that she could desire. A wood fire was burning brightly in the open
French stove; the room was lighted by lamps. It was warm and cheery. A
second door led to the little music-room which Catrina had made her own,
and beyond was her bedroom.

Maggie had assured her hostess that she had every thing that she could
wish, and that she did not desire the services of Catrina's maid. But
the Russian girl still lingered. She was slow to make friends--not shy,
but diffident and suspicious. Her friendship once secured was a thing
worth possessing. She was inclined to bestow it upon this quiet,
self-contained English girl. In such matters the length of an
acquaintance goes for nothing. A long acquaintanceship does not
necessarily mean friendship--one being the result of circumstance, the
other of selection.

"The princess knows Russian?" said Catrina suddenly.

She was standing near the dressing-table, where she had been absently
attending to the candles. She wheeled round and looked at Maggie, who
was hospitably sitting on a low chair near the fire. She was sorry for
the loneliness of this girl's life. She did not want her to go away just
yet. There was another chair by the fire, inviting Catrina to indulge in
those maiden confidences which attach themselves to slippers and
hair-brushings.

Maggie looked up with a smile which slowly ebbed away. Catrina's remark
was of the nature of a defiance. Her half-diffident role of hostess was
suddenly laid aside.

"No; she does not," answered the English girl.

Catrina came forward, standing over Maggie, looking down at her with
eyes full of antagonism.

"Excuse me. I saw her understand a remark I made to one of the servants.
She was not careful. I saw it distinctly."

"I think you must be mistaken," answered Maggie quietly. "She has been
in Russia before for a few weeks; but she did not learn the language.
She told me so herself. Why should she pretend not to know Russian, if
she does?"

Catrina made no answer. She sat heavily down in the vacant chair. Her
attitudes were uncouth and strong--a perpetual source of tribulation to
the countess. She sat with her elbow on her knee, staring into the fire.

"I did not mean to hate her; I did not want to," she said. "If it had
been you, I should not have