Catrina looked up sharply and caught his
eyes resting on Etta.
"He does not love her--he does not love her!" was the thought that
instantly leaped into her brain.
And if she had said it to him he would have contradicted her flatly and
honestly, and in vain.
"Yes," the countess was saying with lazy volubility; "Paul is one of our
oldest friends. We are neighbors in the country, you know. He has always
been in and out of our house like one of the family. My poor husband was
very fond of him."
"Is your husband dead, then?" asked Etta in a low voice, with a strange
haste.
"No; he is only in Siberia. You have perhaps heard of his
misfortune--Count Stepan Lanovitch."
Etta nodded her head with the deepest sympathy.
"I feel for you, countess," she said. "And yet you are so brave--and
mademoiselle," she said, turning to Catrina. "I hope we shall see more
of each other in Tver."
Catrina bowed jerkily and made no reply. Etta glanced at her sharply.
Perhaps she saw more than Catrina knew.
"I suppose," she said to the countess, with that inclusive manner which
spreads the conversation out, "that Paul and Mlle. de Lanovitch were
playmates?"
The reply lay with either of the ladies, but Catrina turned away.
"Yes," answered the countess; "but Catrina is only twenty-four--ten
years younger than Paul.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221