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She looked startled. "Does-does that mean-"

She couldn't finish the sentence. She was on the verge of tears again, her composure crumbling. I stood up and smiled and crossed the room, taking both of her hands in mine.

"It means I'm coming to Russia with you," I told her. "It will be exciting. It-it will be an adventure, and God knows I can use one."

I HAD SEEN SNOW BEFORE, OF COURSE, BUT

never anything like this. It was a solid, shifting, swirling mass of blinding whiteness that came plummeting from a sky as black as night though it was not yet four o'clock in the afternoon. Huge flakes pelted and pounded the window through which I gazed, and the window itself had a glittering coat of rime, the icy turfs forming intricate patterns on the glass. I could see nothing but snow, snow spiraling in the air, snow forming fantastic mounds on the side of the road. How could the horses possibly move through this fury of snow, I wondered, yet the bells jangled merrily and hooves clopped noisily on the icy road and the broad runners of the troika glided smoothly over the hard, glassy surface.

"You mustn't stare at it too long," Lucie said in English.

"It can cause blindness."

"I'm not surprised. It-it has a bizarre kind of beauty, doesn't it?"

"It can be lovely, particularly in the moonlight when everything is silver and blue. Shall we speak Russian?"

I let the heavy velvet curtain fall back into place and settled against the cushions, sighing.

"I'd rather not. I don't think I could concentrate on the words, much less the pronunciation."

"Your pronunciation
is
a bit eccentric," she informed me, "but your command of the language is already superb."

"Not nearly as good as your command of English. Your French has improved, too. You have a wonderful gift for languages, Lucie. It's a pity you never developed it before."

"It has been interesting-learning all this, teaching you my own language. It helps to pass the time."

"And we've had
lots
of time to pass," I added.

Lucie smiled, pulling the enormous sable lap robe closer about her, looking at me with a fresh young face framed by the dark golden brown sable hood covering her head. I wore a hooded ermine cloak and had my own lap robe, silver-gray mink, as large as a blanket. A silver brazier filled with hot coals rested at my feet, spreading warmth up my legs, and though I wore long kidskin gloves, I still placed my hands inside the large white ermine muff with glossy black tails trimming the sides. Despite all these comforts, it was still icy cold, and our breaths caused condensation

in the air when we spoke.

"A cup of hot tea?" Lucie inquired.

"It might help," I replied. "Let me pour it."

"No, no," she protested. "Keep your hands inside the muff. Warm yourself for a while."

She opened the gilded, built-in cabinet and took out the tall silver container and poured hot, sweet tea into two delicate rose pink cups with silver handles. I took mine, sighing again, and sipped it gratefully, feeling warmer at once.

Although I knew the container was lined with a special metal, I was still amazed the tea could be so hot. Lucie asked if I would like some chocolates, a piece of almond cake, perhaps some goat cheese or cold roasted duck. I shook my head. Settling back against the tufted violet and blue velvet cushions, she smiled again, looking all of fifteen, looking wonderfully content as the bells jangled and the enormous troika sped along with scarcely a jolt.

We had abandoned the carriages over a week ago, exchanging them for these elaborate vehicles designed to travel over the icy roads of Russia. Orlov's fine horses had been left behind, too-they would be sent to his country estate along with the carriages when weather permitted, months from now. The horses pulling the troikas were sturdy, muscular animals with short, thick legs and extremely broad shoulders. Though shorter than the chestnuts, not much larger than ponies, really, they pulled the huge troikas with ease and seemed immune to blasts of icy wind and snow.

There were twelve troikas in our caravan, eight of them to carry various supplies that would not be available henceforth, and each vehicle was as large as a small room.

Orlov had his own, though he spent much of his time galloping along with Vladimir and the other guards, and ours was equipped with every conceivable luxury. Lined with padded, pale violet velvet embroidered with silver, with blue velvet curtains and cushions, it had built-in cabinets and shelves and a special curtained cubicle with porcelain chamber pot and ewer. Candles glowed warmly inside crystal globes affixed to either side, between the windows, and in addition to those at our feet thete was another, larger silver brazier filled with glowing coals. Furs were piled everywhere, glossy, gorgeous robes and cloaks, and there were books galore and games and puzzles and an endless supply of wonderful things to eat and drink.

The luxury was all very nice, but it was still cold. Lucie assured me that I would get used to it and, truth to tell, it didn't bother me nearly as much as it had in the beginning.

She hardly seemed to notice, but then she had grown up in this clime. Her uncle actually seemed to prefer to be out in the open, galloping on his horse, claimed it was bracing, and I had never seen him as vigorous and hearty ashe had been since we crossed the Russian border. I would personally

take the sultry warmth of Texas any day, or even the English spring. Still, if one had to travel through Russia, it was nice to do so bundled in ermine and mink and sable and surrounded by all these niceties.

I finished my tea and handed the cup to Lucie. She put it away and selected a chocolate, peeling away the silver paper and plopping it into her mouth. Was it really only six weeks ago that we had sat there in her sitting room, talking until dawn? London seemed like a distant dream now, something vaguely imagined that had never really taken place. We had left a week after the party for Princess Dashkova, crossing the channel at Dover, watching the great white cliffs recede slowly in the distance. In Paris there had been dinners with aristocratic friends, a visit to Versailles, a flurry of buying at the exquisite shops. In Berlin there had been crisp apple strudel and stodgy German barons, dark beer and leather goods and a cuckoo clock for Lucie. Across Europe there had been accommodations ranging from the luxurious to the barely adequate.

Since we crossed the border, there had been only dismal posthouses, each more squalid than the last.

The first lap of the journey had been interesting, full of variety-rustic French villages where one bought delicious homemade bread, dark German forests and plush spas where one avoided the sulphur water, mountain ranges covered with vivid green pine trees under a cloudless indigo sky-but in Russia there was only snow and ice and howling wind, with an occasional collection of hovels to break the monotony. Lucie assured me it was lovely in the spring and positively lush in summer, but I hoped to be on my way to Texas by then. I would cheer up when we got to St. Petersburg, she added. It was a magical city, created in the middle of a former swampland and one of the wonders of the modern world with its hundreds of bridges and huge, majestic buildings. It rivaled Paris in theater and music, its shops considerably better, with goods from all over the world, and Versailles couldn't compare with the Winter .

Palace.

I watched as she contentedly reached for another chocolate.

The tormented child I had held in my arms six weeks ago seemed to have vanished, replaced by a vivacious creature with sparkling violet-blue eyes and a ready smile. She had never had a friend. She had never been able to laugh and share her enthusiasm and gossip cheerfully for hours on end. As the darkness in her soul melted away, a radiant personality came to the surface, the personality I had glimpsed so briefly that night at the theater when she had been enthralled by the play. There was surprising sophistication as well and a voracious new thirst for learning languages.

"I may-I just may go on the stage one day," she had confided,

"and I will need to speak flawless French, flawless English, too. You should learn Russian, Marietta-I will help you. It will be fun."

And so we passed the hours away with grammar books purchased in a fine shop in Paris and I learned Russian and taught her English and helped her improve her French and we both laughed at our mistakes and stumbled on, hour after hour. Lucie had purchased dozens of books of plays, and she read them avidly. Moliere was delightful, Racine a bit stuffy, Shakespeare exciting but hard to understand.

Her favorite plays were those written during the Restoration, scandalous farces penned by Mrs. Aphra Behn, even more scandalous dramas by John Dryden.

Reading them aloud helped her greatly with English, while I corrected her pronunciation and explained the meanings of unfamiliar words. My own progress in Russian was considerably slower, but I had a working knowledge of the language now, could understand it if it weren't spoken too rapidly and was able to speak it myself, if in a highly ungrammatical fashion. My Russian was every bit as good as her uncle's French, Lucie informed me.

Orlov was delighted with our projects, enchanted when I spoke my first Russian sentence to him. The grin on his face and the wicked twinkle in his eyes led me to believe I had been less than word perfect when I informed him that the horses were sturdy creatures and the weather was foul.

The count had been a delightful and attentive companion in France and Germany, showing off his knowledge of the places we went, buying us little surprises, treating me with a courteous and disarming warmth. I might be an employee,

but I was treated like a guest, my comfort of paramount importance to the count. I had had my reservations about coming along, true, but most ofthem had vanished. I knew that Orlov found me attractive, but he had shown me the greatest respect and had never once indicated he would like to go to bed with me.

There had been a woman in Paris, I knew, a woman in Berlin, a peasant girl at the last posthouse. Women were as necessary to him as the air he breathed, but as long as that husky, caressing voice and those seductive looks were used on others, I had no complaint.

Was there, perhaps, just a faint touch of disappointment?

It was something I didn't care to examine too closely. I was human, flesh and blood, and Count Gregory Orlov was a magnificent animal, the most magnetic man I had ever met. I would be less than human were I not to find him physically appealing, but I was perfectly content with the
status quo.
I had no intentions of becoming involved with any man, however magnetic, after Jeremy Bond.

Orlov knew, and he respected my decision, content to be a genial host and jolly companion.

"It is gone," Lucie said, peering at me. "Finally it is gone."

I snapped out of my revery. "I-I'm afraid I was lost in thought. What is gone? What are you talking about?"

"That lost, betrayed look in your eyes. It was there in London all the time. It was there in France, too, even when you were smiling. It is gone now. I think perhaps you have gotten over this man at last, Marietta."

"I haven't gotten over him," I said, "but I-I think perhaps I have made a great deal of headway. Being with you has helped. Traveling, seeing new things, all these experiences-all of it has helped."

"You love him still?"

"I detest the son of a bitch, not to put too fine a point on it. And, yes, I love him still. Damn his soul."

"It is strange, love. All these plays I read, so much to do with love, everyone in a muddle, laughing, lying, plotting, wrecking their lives for love. So much talk of splendid bliss.
Is
it blissful, Marietta?"

"It can be, darling. It can also be hell."

"Will you-do you think you will ever fall in love again?" she asked.

"Not if! can help it. I've had quite enough of the divine madness, more than enough to last me a lifetime."

"That is just talk, I think," she said sagely. "You are young and beautiful and men will always fall in love with you. You will love one ofthem back, it is inevitable. Is this the right word?"

"The word is right. The statement is wrong."

"I think not. Perhaps you will even meet this Jeremy again."

"I fervently hope so," I said.

"What would you do?"

"First I would slap his face so hard his ears would ring.

After that I would think of something more painful."

Lucie nodded. "You do still love him. It is like in the plays. You want to hurt the one you love because of the hurt he gives you. When love is gone, there is indifference only."

"I think perhaps you have read too many plays."

"These things a woman knows instinctively," she replied,

"even if she has never been in love herself."

"You will be, darling," I promised.

"I do not know that I care to be. There is too much suffering.

I would rather be loved and admired by-" she hesitated, dreamy eyed, "by the people sitting out there in the darkness," she continued. "They would love me and I would feel their love, but it would not be able to hurt me."

"You were impressed by Perdita, weren't you?"

"I wish to be like her. I know my uncle will object, but I think-I think when I am eighteen I will go to the school in Moscow and learn to act. My father no longer has any interest in me, so that doesn't matter. My uncle will yell and throw things, but I think I can be stubborn and have my way." -

"It is a difficult life, Lucie. Acting is a-a very precarious way to make a living."

"My uncle will disown me, true, but I will sell my jewelry.

Is it wrong to have a dream, Marietta?"

"Everyone should have a dream, darling."

"You do not think I am foolish?"

I shook my head. "Of course not," I said gently.

"Do you-do you think this dream could possibly come true?"

"Dreams do come true, Lucie, if you are willing to work.

If you are willing to sacrifice and persevere and keep going. If you can do this, there is no reason why you couldn't become anything you wanted to be."