uil, was suddenly filled with noise and gayety. The young Count
Serge had sent his carriages on before him; saddle-horses and hounds
were stamping and neighing in their stalls and barking in their
kennels as though the one aim of life was to make all the noise
possible.

"How handsome he is, our young count!" Dacka kept on saying the
livelong day, to while away the tedious hours in the silent workroom.
"It was I who received him in my arms when he was born."

And she repeated again and again, with inexhaustible complacency, the
history of Serge's birth, and the legend of his boyhood up to the
moment when this dear treasure of her heart had gone to join the corps
of pages, his trunks laden with cakes, jams, and all that could
possibly be eaten under heaven.

The workgirls gave listless heed to these hundred times repeated
narrations, but Mavra was never tired of hearing them; it was like
receiving a sort of gospel into her heart. Her good and revered
protectress made all things dear and venerated that touched her
nearly; and this only son, loved, adored, longed for, became a
supernatural being, a kind of Messiah to her.

One morning at the end of August, as Mavra, who had risen early, was
crossing the courtyard to go waken up the laundress, who had
overslept herself, she saw, galloping along the inclosure a _troika_
of black horses, with their heads covered with bells. "It's the young
master!" thought the little servant; and without giving herself time
for reflection, she ran to the ponderous gate and threw it wide open.
At the same moment the brilliant equipage arrived; the coachman
pulled together his noble beasts, and without slackening their gallop
they shot like an arrow past Mavra, and ten steps further on stood
stock-still at the foot of the steps. Dazed, her heart thrilled by she
knew not what impression of fear and joy, she received full in the
face the gaze of two large, black, amazed and amused eyes.

"How like his mother!" thought Mavra, as she closed the huge gate,
that shut with a heavy bang.

She turned slowly toward the steps as Serge, jumping down from the
carriage, looked around at her again; he smiled when he met her blue
eyes full of simple admiration, and, giving her a friendly nod,
entered the house of his fathers. A minute after he was by the
countess' bedside, pressed lovingly in her arms.

When they had chatted two whole hours, as they finished their tea,
Serge, recollecting himself, sud