The Wahpeton times., 1891-04-16
A RUSSIAN STORY.

The intense cold of the night has
moderated, but the barometer still
marks fifteen degrees below zero.
From the tall steeples OF innumerable
churches the bells of st. Petersburg
ring in the sacred feast. In an ex.
quisitely appointed room Of q palace,
where tender lights filter through the
golden shadows of siiken hangings,
sits woman. Her attitude is one o1
repose, deep, unruffled. From the
crown of her little flame colored head
to the tip OF her dainty shoe, she is q
perfect bit of dame natures art.
she were standing we would call hel
tall, but she sits crouching in her chai1
with all the abandon of q doing ii
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 mans
heels-short, thick set, with adult Cos.
sack face and kindly smile, wearing the
uniform of an officer OF the imperial
body guard.
pardon, my dear Elisaveta. Have
l made you waltz"
She gives her shapely shoulders g
slight shrug, but watches him with
contemplating eyes ashe rattles on.
"Imagine, my beloved, thought
that l should not be able to take you
to the races. was so rushed at the
last moment. Oh, but they will be
superb! Never has the track beer
more perfect-hard as q rock, and not
a flake OF snow."
"Indeed," says the lady, languidly
Putting out a lazy, beringed hand, she
draws back the curtain that hides hel
window. "It is superb" she assets.
'You know how difficult it is to ac.
complish that" continues the young
officer, ':with::this cursed wind drifting
the Ladoga snow. Still I must tell
you that 500 men have worked at it.
Brave fellows!"
''rhe journals say something of a
three horse race"
eyes; the event of the day. But,
come"
1--WE 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, finging his head
back to better look into the opal-tint.
ed eyes above him. With her little
pointed chin against the rose of her
palm she sits lost in a world of revire.
"Doyou remember Sergius Hotzka?"
she asks suddenly.
He shrugs his shoulders, accustomed
to the willful wanderings OF the great
city's petted belle.
"How could l ever forget him?" he
says in turn. Was there ever man
who left more ineffaceable traces be-
hind him? He was an original mad
man."
"Original!" echoed Elisaveta. "Ah!
what a cowardly word. Original?'
she repeats, as though interrogatine
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 lovers white teeth are like a
wolfish danger signal as he turns to
look at her,
"My DEAR" he says, coldly, "you
can't expect the world to be faithful
to proscript."
"Proscript?"
Exactly. They say that political
complications We're his ruin. At any
rate he is banished from st. Peters
burg"
"Then he is in Siberia?'
With all q soldiers diplomacy he
says, indifferently: II believe not.
The peasants tell story OF a hermit
OF the Steppes, who mends kettles
and plows FOR the farmers. Many be-
lieve it to be Hotska, with the re-
mains of his own famous stud"
''Farmers-kettles," echoes Elisave-
ia absently.
Suddenly she turns on her moody
swain.
"Come. Alexander" shecries; ~ can
see the crowds gather from here.
Quick-we must hurry"
1t is scarcely half hour later and
the race-course presents q brilliant
spectacle. The river Neva is now only
colossal roadway between two walls
of splendid rose granite that line it's
quays. 1t is a mirror of polished
steel. Stands, richly decorated with
flags, occupy at least a quarter of the
inclosure, and over a hundred thou
sand spectators surround the arena.
In the center Of everything great pa.
vilion draped in purple and gold shows
that royalty is expected to take part
in the city's festival. A huge figure in
white uniform shows itself. The i'm.
passiveness of his countenance, with
his eagle profile and small glitterine
eyes, is unmistakable.
'Tis he, the autocrat-the Emperor
of all Russians.
From the human hive mounts and
swells a growing noise; cries, oaths,
calls from the Kras senders, all blend
themselves in q formidable roar,
"Long live the Czar!"
At this moment q rosewood sled
drawn by white horses stops in front
of the box nearest the royal pavilion,
The president of the jury precipitatea
himself at the horses feet and aids q
young woman to descend. The tail