Corps, had been entitled to an ensignship in a
line regiment. Influence, however, obtained for him a first lieutenancy
in the Mounted Grenadiers--the finest regiment of the imperial guard in
Petersburg, and the Emperor's favorite; whose uniforms, moreover, were
calculated to capture the faith and fancy of any damsel, not of blood
royal, in the whole Empire. Last, and, from Michael's point of view,
most important of all, such a position would give Ivan at once the
_entre_ into the best clubs, and, with them, the "smartest" society of
Petersburg.

Using these facts as a preface, Prince Gregoriev proceeded to
sketch out, to his silent auditor, the lines of an ideal (!)
social-politico-military career, untrammelled, at last, by the
traditional ostracism of his race. For his commission would do much for
him; and Madame Dravikine was practically pledged to provide some sort
of reputation for her nephew, being not unaware that the celebrated map
of her brother-in-law contained more than one item of interest centering
about her own most sacred name and title.

Through the period of explanation Ivan sat motionless, eyes down, brows
knit, apparently attentive to his father's words. At the end, when the
Prince had handed him his commission and half a dozen introductory
letters, he bowed to his father, but uttered not one word of thanks or
of understanding:--he--Sophia's son, though he had just received the
gift of such a career as three-fourths of the young men in the country
would have gone on their knees to obtain! Michael was half disposed to
be pleased at the fellow's insolence. But he did not have the fineness
of intuition to dream that his son, watching him closely through
half-shut lids, had felt his blood pounding so furiously through his
pulses that he dared not permit his lips to open for the fraction of a
second lest he should fling some expression of his deep disgust, his
anger--nay, his _hatred_--into his father's face, follow it with his
commission, crushed into a ball, and rush forth from that ghost-haunted
house, never to re-enter it again. Instead of this theatrical
performance, then, Ivan chose silence and inaction. And finally, with
bursting brain, he escaped to his own room, where he found
Piotr--ostensibly waiting with tea.

But, unfortunately for Piotr, the young master was as uncommunicative as
the old; and the door to the inner sanctum had, throughout this
interview, been shut and bolted. Thus mere spec