His Hour

For luncheon quite a number of guests arrived, the Princess, she found

afterward, was hardly ever alone.

"I don't care to go out, Tamara, as a rule, to déjeuner," she said,

"but I love my house to be filled with young people and mirth."

The names were very difficult for Tamara to catch, especially as they

all called each other by their petits noms--all having been friends

since babyhood, if not, as often was the case, related by ties of

blood; but at last she began to know that "Olga" was the Countess

Gléboff, and "Sonia," the Princess Solentzeff-Zasiekin--both young,

under thirty, and both attractive and quite sans gêne.

"Olga" was little and plump, with an oval face and rather prominent

eyes, but with a way of saying things which enchanted Tamara's ear. Her

manner was casualness itself, and had a wonderful charm; and another

thing struck her now that she saw them in daylight, not a single woman

present--and there were six or seven at least--had even the slightest

powder on her face. They were as nature made them, not the faintest aid

from art in any way. "They cannot be at all coquette like the French,"

she thought, "or even like us in England, or they could not all do

their hair like that whether it suits them or no! But what charm they

have--much more than we, or the French, or any one I know."

They were all so amusing and gay at lunch and talked of teeny scandals

with a whimsical humor at themselves for being so small, which was

delightful, and no one said anything spiteful or mean. Quantities of

pleasant things were planned, and Tamara found her days arranged for a

week ahead.

That night, as they drove to Prince Milaslávski's dinner, an annoying

sense of excitement possessed Tamara. She refused to ask herself why.

Curiosity to see the house of this strange man--most likely--in any

case, emotion enough to make her eyes bright.

It was one of the oldest houses in Petersburg, built in the time of

Catherine, about 1768, and although in a highly florid rococo style of

decoration, as though something gorgeous and barbaric had amalgamated

with the Louis XV., still it had escaped the terrible wave of 1850

vandalism, and stood, except for a few Empire rooms, a monument of its

time.

Everything about it interested Tamara. The strange Cossack servants in

the hall; the splendid staircase of stone and marble, and then finally

they reached the salons above.