The Forrest City times., 1891-05-15
A RUSSIAN STORY.

The intense cold of the night has moderated, but the barometer stil marks fifteen degrees below zero From the tall steeples of innumerablt churches the bells of St. Petersburg ring in the sacred feast. In an ex quisitely appointed room of a palace where tender lights filter through the golden shadows of siken hangings, sits woman. Her attitude is one oi repose, deep, unruffled. From the crown of her little flame colored head to the tip of her dainty shoe, she is a perfect bit of dame natures art. Il she were standing we would call her tall, but she sits crouching in her chair with all the abandon of dozing ti- gress. She gives little yawn.
 "Ah. late as usual, {" she says aloud.
 As she speaks the door opens and a servant enters.
 Captain Repine." he announces.
 He follows quickly on the man 5 hees-short, thick set, with adull Cos sack face and kindly smile, wearing he uniform of an officer of the imperial body guard
 Pardon. my dear Elisaveta. Have l made you wait?"
 She gives her shapely shoulders n slight shrug, but watches him with contemplating eyes as he rattles on
 Imagine, my beloved, l thought that should not be able to take you to the races. was so rushed at the last moment. Oh, but they wll be superb Never has the track been more perfect-hard as a rock, and not Q flake of snow"
 Indeed, says the lady, languidly. Putting out lazy, beringed hand, she draws back the curtain that hides her window ''It is superb she assets
 You know how difficult 1t is to ae- complish that" continues the young officer, with this cursed wind drifting the Ladoga snow. Still 1 must tell you that 800 men have worked at it. Brave fellows"
 ''The journals say something of a three horse race'"
 ''Yes; the event of the day. But, come
 I've have still an hour" she an- swers and motions him to a seat beside her
 No, no; at your feet always at your feet, Princess Veta," says the young man gaily, fiinging his head ed eyes above him. With her little pointed chin against the rose of her palm she sits lost tn world of revire
 Do you remember Sergius Hotzka?" she asks suddenly.
 He shrugs his shoulders. accustomed to the willful wanderings oS the great city's petted belle.
 How could ever forst him." he says in turn Was there ever man who left more ineftaeeable traces be- hind him? He was an original mad man"
 Original" echoed Elisaveta "Ahl what n cowardly word. Original?" she repeats, as though mterrogating her own thought The young man frowns slightly, but she goes on with calm retrospection. Only three years ago. she said, "and he appeared among us like some brilliant meteor: fabulously rich; astonishing the world with his eccentric prodigalities. Then all those clod.rooting swine, they deserted him when he was no longer wealthy"
 Her lover's white teeth are like a woltish danger signal as he turns to look at her.
 ..Nx~ laar - Inc paxva aDlll,, sAx.A,, cant expect the world to be faithful to a proscript.'
 "Proscript?"
 Exactly. They say that political complications were his ruin, At any rate he Is banished from St Peters burg,
 "Then he is in Siberiag" With all soldiers diplomacy hs says, indifferently, 'I believe not | The peasants tell n story of hermit of the Steppes, who mends kettles and blows for the farmers. Many be lieve it to be Hotska, with the re mains of his own famous stud"
 "Farmers--kettles," echoes Elisave ta absently.
 Suddenly she turns on her mood, swain,
 Come Alexander, she cries; II cal see the crowds gather from here Quick--we must hurry"
 It is scarcely half hour later an, the race-course presents a brillian spectacle. The river Neva is now onl a colossal roadway between two wall of splendid rose granite that line 1t quays. 1t IS a mirror of p.clishe steel. Stands, richly decorated wit flags. occupy at least quarter of tn inclosure, and over a hundred thot sand spectators surround the arena In the center of everything great ps vilion draped inpurple and gold show that royalty is expected to take par in the city's festival A huge figure i white uniform shows itself. The in passiveness of his countenance, wit his eagle profile and small glitterir eyes, is unmistakable.
 Iris he, the autocrat--the EmperC of all Russians.
 From the human hive mounts an swels growing noise; cries, oath \ calls from the Kras senders, all blen themselves in a formidable roa
 "Long live the Czar!"
 At this moment a rosewood slt
 drawn by white horses stops in frol
 of the box nearest the royal pavilio
 The president of the jury precipitat
 himself at the horses feet and aids
 young woman to descend. The ts
 figure, with it's long, loose wrap !. priceless blue fer and it's aureole