t.

When Count Saxe was through with swearing at his Courland subjects I
reminded him there was a court ball that night, and that he must go
and smile on the ugly duchess.

At this he swore again, and for the only time I ever knew of, plotted
revenge against a lady.

"Gaston Cheverny," he cried, "do you, when you go with me to the
palace to-night, take pains to inform some of the ladies of the court
that I admit the duchess is not handsome, but she is worthy. Be sure
and insist upon her worth--that is a form of praise hated by women;
they know if a man praises their worth it is at the expense of their
beauty. So, forget it not!"

We sat not long at table after that. I had to begin to plan our
departure, and Count Saxe and Gaston Cheverny wished to arrive early
at the palace, so as to leave before midnight. It was still daylight
when they rode away into the town--daylight lasts long in those far
northern regions. Two gentlemen rode with them as escorts.

After attending to what was necessary, I watched from the courtyard
the sun go down in darksome glory. The sky was full of coppery
clouds, and bad weather was brewing. Of course I thought of the
difference between our confident departure from Paris and our
crestfallen return; and Madame Riano's simile of the drenched hen
plagued me much. And Monsieur Voltaire--how I hoped the king's
ministers would see the usefulness of keeping him out of France! And
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur--how sweet and generous she would be--and
then came the ever-haunting thought of Francezka Capello. Where
was she at this moment? Under Italian skies, or among the peaks of
the Swiss mountains, or in some distant German city; at all events
far, far from me--so thought I.

The darkness came down suddenly, with copper clouds grown dusky and
scurrying across the night sky. The lights vanished from the shabby
town, but afar off the palace windows gleamed. All was darkness and
silence, but all was not peaceful. As I stood on the drawbridge, under
the light of the lantern swinging overhead, it seemed to me that the
town was full of moving shadows. There would be a dark mass away in
the distance, and while I was looking, it would noiselessly dissolve.
Then the mass would become serpentine, appearing and disappearing
silently and mysteriously. I had made up my mind that these softly
moving shadows, like the shapes in a dream, were not dream shapes,
but solid Russians, with arms in their hands; and I c