- konsky was quite indifferent—and if Pembroke retained
any lingering weakness for her—well enough—he might be induced to let Volkonsky dwell in peace.
When Madame Volkonsky entered the room, her husband placed a chair for her. Often they quarreled, and sometimes they were reported to fight, but he never omitted those little attentions. Madame Volkonsky's face was pale. She did not know how much lay in Pembroke's power to harm them, but she was shaken by the encounter. It was hard, just at the opening of a new life, to meet those people. It was so easy to be good now. They were free for a time from duns and creditors—for during her marriage to Ahlberg she had become acquainted with both. She had a fine establishment, a splendid position—and at the very outset arose the ghost of a dead and gone fancy, and the woman before whom she had in vain humiliated herself, and the man who knew enough to ruin her husband. It was trying and it made her look weary and very old. Volkonsky began in French:
"So you met your old acquaintances to-night."
"Yes."
"That charming M. le Colonel called you Eliza Peyton."
"Yes," again answered Madame Volkonsky.
"This comes of that crazy expedition to America which I tried to dissuade you from."
Madame Volkonsky again nodded. She was not usually so meek.
