The Genius | Page 5

have been the reason for her presence
to-night in Moscow, whither she had journeyed to stand beside her
sister at the anticipated triumph. But whatever her motive, no one could
deny that the evening would gain by her presence. Here, beside her
glittering sister, she was superb, in her magnificently poised maturity,
the voluminous gauzes of her Paris gown floating like clouds about her:
the numberless opals in her hair and at her breast only continuing the
delicate coloring of the green-and-white costume that was as unusual as
it was becoming to her chic ugliness of feature. But to-night, for
perhaps the first time in her life, Caroline Dravikine was more
interested in the costume of another than in her own. She was
determined that her sister's appearance should be even more perfect
than hers. And to this end she went over the other's toilet detail by
detail, only ending the silent scrutiny as Másha reappeared with a
slender glass of wine for her mistress.
"Eh bien, Sophie,--yes! drink the wine. If you will not rouge you must
keep what color you have!--the sapphires are not in the least too heavy.
They have done you up very well. Sonya!" turning to one of the maids,
"catch up that curl over the right ear of the Princess. It spoils the effect
of severity that suits your face so well. So. Et maintenon, ma chère,
renvoyez vos femmes de chambre. Je veux causer avec vous en
particulier."
Sophia complied with the request: the maids, with the simple
familiarity of the Russian serf, taking their dismissal reluctantly. But
Madame Dravikine held them all in awe, and before her they did not
dare the protest that their Princess might have listened to. When the
sisters were alone, they crossed the room together and seated
themselves on a great sofa upholstered in a beautifully faded old
brocade, made before the birth of the great Catharine. And while
Caroline, mindful of her fresh gauzes, sat upright, like a bird poised for
flight, her sister lay back, wearily, crushing the veil of her headdress
against a heap of pillows.
There was a moment's pause; then the Countess began, resolutely: "Has

Michael Petrovitch seen you yet?"
"Oh no! He has not come up-stairs. I hope that he will not, Katrelka!
He--he would not be satisfied, you know."
"Sophie! Sophie! sometimes I cannot wonder that the man is a terror in
your life! Satisfied with you! Ciel! If Alexis Vassilyitch expressed
dissatisfaction with a toilet of mine, I should not speak to him for a
week. No! I should get him into such difficulties with the ministry that
he would come to me on his knees in three days! I tell you again,
Sophie, that you must assert yourself! Tell me--"
"Stop, Kasha, stop! I am too tired for all this just now. Say what you
will to-morrow. You know the thing is a great strain. Tell me only this:
Are you quite sure that his Majesty will come? Do you believe it
possible that at last everything is to be right--that we are to have
Moscow--our old Moscow--here again?"
Having with some little self-control waved aside the unusual rebuff of
Sophia's first words, Madame Dravikine listened to the last with a smile,
a trifle self-conscious; and in spite of her sister's look--a stare that
suggested coldness, the expression remained with her as she answered:
"Yes, at last you are safe, dear. You see--I am here from Petersburg;
though it has meant leaving Nathalie with her nurses, and Alexis
Vassilyitch to spend every night at the yacht-club at baccarat. Besides,
Moscow always bores his Majesty; and even the Czarevitch isn't with
him this time, you know."
"Caroline, I wish--" Madame Gregoriev's hesitating voice trailed into
silence. She knew that it was scarcely the hour for remonstrance of that
kind. After a moment she began again, "Do you remember how many
years it is since we were all at home together, in the Nijny Kislovsky? I
should hardly be able to name over the old families now. All the
leaders of our day--Madame Apúkhtin, Princess Osínin, the
Dowager-Countess Parakoff--they are all dead. It is the wife of the
younger Smirnoff--Alexander married a dancer who cannot be
received--who keeps up the name. Eugen married Olga Lodoroff. She
was a child when I was married. She wouldn't remember me at all now.

But we have had not one excuse. They are all to come. Kasha, I am
happy to-night! Think--"
"Of course, Sophie, they are coming. One would think you a parvenue,
absolutely, to hear you!" broke in Caroline, sharply, still smarting a
little at her reading of that unfinished sentence.
Sophia colored at her sister's appellation, but had no time for rejoinder;
for at this moment an inner door was pushed gently open