e to
spend her babyhood in the care of the Dravikine serfs; until at the age
of six she talked like a kitchen-maid, and had the manners of a
stable-boy--or a Grand-Duke.

Now, in the autumn of 1849, Count Dravikine, whose promotions came about
as regularly as his wife's allowance was paid, had just been created
Assistant Minister of Public Works; and the dignity thereby superinduced
in him was in exact proportion to the height of his upward step. Upon a
November afternoon, then, as his Excellency was returning from the
Council, he came suddenly upon his daughter, standing in the court-yard
of his house, bare-headed, arms akimbo, feet spread apart in the
attitude of a jockey, her white bonnet thrown upon the muddy flags
before her, her shrill voice raised to a scream, as she pelted her
helpless nurse with a string of oaths that would have done credit to his
Iron Majesty, all for presuming to interrupt her game within doors in
order to take her for the prescribed daily walk in the gardens of the
Tauride.

Count Dravikine, his eyes narrowing with anger, approached the furious
child, lifted her, now kicking frantically, in two powerful arms,
carried her straight to his wife's boudoir, and flung her before her
mother. Then, in a voice that Caroline had heard only twice before, he
expressed his opinion of the up-bringing of his child, finishing with
certain forceful suggestions of change for the future.

Countess Caroline listened without a word; but when her husband left
her, he was well aware that his orders would be obeyed to the letter.
The Countess, indeed, respected her partner and had continued to obey
his rare commands simply because she was aware of the existence of that
very voice and manner. And from that hour the education of her tomboy
became with her a matter of considerably greater moment than the
planning of the winter's campaign, or the choice of a costume for the
first court ball of the season.

It followed that Mademoiselle Nathalie passed through two extremely
trying years. At the end of them, however, she was a child transformed.
No one now could possibly mistake her for a boy. She could read and
write, spell fairly, had some knowledge of arithmetic and the
conjugation of _Amo_: and, finally, her knowledge of intricate profanity
had materially lessened. Nowadays, when she was left alone in her rage,
her most forceful expressions seemed to be "_Dieu de Dieu de Dieu!_" or
"_Sapr-r-risti!_" of her mild