His Hour

"How fortunate I met him to-night!"

"Indeed, yes."

Then her attention was diverted, as it always was each time she saw the

blazing braziers and heaped up flaming piles of wood at the corners of

the streets, since she had been in Russia. "How glad I am there is

something to make the poor people warm," she said.

"When it gets below twelve degrees it is difficult to enjoy life,

certainly," the Prince agreed. "And, indeed, it is hard sometimes not

to freeze."

It was a strange lurid picture, the Isvostchiks drawn round, while the

patient horses with their sleighs stood quiet some little distance off.

How hard must existence be to these poor things.

Supper could not be ready for half an hour, the Prince told them when

they got to the Fontonka House, and as they all arrived more or less

together, they soon paired off for bridge.

"I am going to show Mrs. Loraine my pictures," the host said. "She

admires our Catherine and Peter the Great."

And in the salon where they all sat, he began pointing out this one and

that, making comments in a distrait voice. But when they came to the

double doors at the end he opened them wide, and led Tamara into

another great room.

"This is the ballroom," he said. "It is like all ballrooms, so we shall

not linger over that. I have two Rembrandts in my own apartment beyond

which it may interest you to see, and a few other relics of the past."

He was perfectly matter of fact, his manner had not a shade of

gallantry in it, and Tamara accepted this new situation and followed

him without a backward thought.

They seemed to go through several sheet-shrouded salons and came out

into a thoroughly comfortable room. Its general aspect of decoration

had a Byzantine look, and on the floor were several magnificent bear

skins, while around the walls low bookcases with quantities of books

stood. And above them many arms were crossed. Over the mantlepiece a

famous Rembrandt frowned, and another from the opposite wall. But it

was strange there were no photographs of dancers or actresses about as

Tamara would have thought.

The Prince talked intelligently. He seemed to know of such things as

pictures, and understood their technique. And if he had been an elderly

art critic he could not have been more aloof.

Presently Tamara noticed underneath the first picture there was hung a

quaint sword. Something in its shape and workmanship attracted her

attention, and she asked its history.