ill. The piece to be played was changed in consequence, and next morning all St. Petersburg learned that its idol had taken a lord and master—a legitimate one this time—in the person of Count Barineff, a fast fellow, worn out with excess of every kind, but rich, of good family, and in favor at court.

After the marriage ceremony Count Barineff went abroad with his wife and her daughter, now his daughter too; and they were forgotten up to the time when the countess, really a widow now—for probably there had never been a M. Froment—returned to Russia to take possession of her late husband's property. His extravagance of all kinds had made some deep inroads into it, but enough was left for her to maintain a very honorable rank with.

On her return to St. Petersburg, after an absence of ten years, the ex-leading lady of the Michael Theatre had encountered a goodly number of her former adorers; and as she was still beautiful, and her daughter—now fourteen years old—was growing to be very pretty, her drawing-room was soon a meeting-place for that elegant and frivolous world of people who trouble their heads very little about the past of the mistress of a house where they are well received.

Whether it was that years of discretion had come to her, or that she cleverly concealed the truth, the Countess Barineff gave no chance to scandal. Her conduct—at any rate in appearance—was perfectly upright and respectable.

At her house there was always good music, thanks to the artistes of all nations whom she liked to invite, and received in charming fashion when they came. There was dancing too, now and then, and often brilliant talk about France and the literary movement there. In the drawing-room of the intelligent widow was sure to be heard the latest news of Parisian fashions, and the last issued novels of famous Paris publishing firms were always there. There was no prudery, and a slightly scandalous story might be told; but anything that was said or done was in the tone and manner of good society.

It may be imagined that this position, so cleverly gained by the adroit countess, had rekindled the flame of her former adorers. Close siege was laid to her; she was even asked to give a successor to her first husband—the Russian—but the most ardent declarations left her cold and unmoved.

To her most intimate friend, General Podoi, who in the old days had wished to marry her, and was still deeply in love with her, she replied one day when he was pressing her to come to a decision:

"My dear general, I don't know whether I shall ever marry again. I doubt it. At any rate, I shall never commit this folly a second time until Lise herself is married. First of all, then, a husband must be found worthy of my daughter. You see, there is plenty of time yet. When I am about to become a grandmother, I shall be almost an old woman whom nobody will care for."

The countess might have added, but she did not, as much from prudence as politeness:

"And you, my good Podoi, will scarcely be of a figure to make a presentable husband then."

This determination of the countess had not discouraged the old soldier. He had rather taken it as a sort of future engagement, and had felt himself authorized in consequence to pose as an aspirant to her hand, as well as to make himself, so to speak, the protector, factotum, and steward of the Barineff household; and this, if it did not altogether drive off the other suitors, kept them, at any rate, at a tolerably respectful distance.

As the general was a man of honor, and held a high military appointment, the countess had tacitly accepted the platonic suzerainty, which was useful to her without being a serious danger for her reputation; and the good fellow Podoi for the moment demanded nothing more.

From the day of the above conversation, he began to pass before him in a mental review the young noblemen likely to make good husbands by the time fixed by his friend the countess. He had drawn up a very curious list, containing all the information necessary to form a judgment on the fortune, character, and future of his candidates. From this list he struck out one by one the names of such of them as disappeared in the vortex of the world, or who, according to him, had become unworthy to be presented to his protégée at the psychological moment.

Lise Barineff received an excellent education, and grew into a charming young girl. Her mother did not let her be seen often. She occasionally appeared at table when the guests were numerous; more rarely still she was present at her mother's receptions. She only went into society at musical soirées, and always accompanied the countess in her drives and walks about the city.

In their landau or sledge, drawn by horses the choice of Podoi, mother and daughter looked quite distinguished. It was plain to everybody that the widow of Count Barineff was trying to marry her daughter well. The ambition was so natural and worthy of respect that no one thought of criticising it unfavorably. Still less were they disposed to make ill-natured reflections upon the doubtful descent of pretty Lise Barineff.

Three years passed thus before the young girl made her formal entry into society at a ball given by the officers of the Guards in Honor of the Grand Duke Constantine, and to celebrate his return from the Caucasus. This first appearance of Lise Barineff in the fashionable world was a complete triumph for her and her mother. We should add that it was a triumph too for General Podoi, on whose arm was Lise, whom he looked on almost as his own child.

The success was well deserved. Lise Barineff was in her eighteenth year. Fair, slender, and very distinguished-looking, she was remarkably beautiful too. The elegance of her figure, the perfect oval of her face, the curve of her lips, the classic shape of her brow—all were fitted to attract the aspirants whom the good fellow Podoi had dreamed about for her.

The most striking thing in the young girl from this day forward was the self-possession with which she received the homage paid to her. It was evident that her mother had trained her carefully for the admiration she was the object of, and that she was armed in advance against all surprises.

It could be seen in the calmness she preserved under the flattering murmurs which her appearance excited. Without confusion she moved through these salons where she now set foot for the first time. Her beautiful, greenish eyes, with emerald-like reflections in their depths, were not lowered under the dazzling glitter of a world they had never before seen, but which, doubtless, had been carefully painted for her in advance.

This indifference of hers was but an additional charm for those whom her beauty had at once inthralled. For a less enthusiastic spectator, it was a subject for curious study. A worthy child of the ex-actress of the Michael Theatre, was this débutante cleverly playing a rôle long learned and often repeated? Or was she really what she seemed to be?

Under this bosom already formed, chastely veiled with muslin, would not an ardent heart soon be beating? What ambitious or passionate thoughts were slumbering under those delicately penciled eyebrows, in color darker than her hair, and joined by an almost imperceptible down above the nose with its sensitive nostrils? How warm was the blood that circulated under this creamy skin, which was that of a brunette rather than a blonde? Taken back smoothly from the brow and temples, her luxuriant hair was rebellious where it was gathered at the nape of the neck, its golden wealth impatient of restraint. "Diana," murmured the admirers of Lise Barineff. "Merely Psyche awaiting Cupid," a skeptical physiologist would have replied.

Within less than a month from this first